The horses were tethered in a stand of trees just upstream from their campsite. Mark, enjoying the friendly conversation, hadn't noticed the sunlight fading behind the Blackstone peaks in the west. He absentmindedly checked for his watch: the sudden onset of darkness was a striking contrast to the relative daylight near the fire. He wished, absurdly, that he knew what time it was in Colorado.

Unbuckling Renna's saddle, he let it fall to the ground, pulled the soft wool blanket from the mare's back and gave the horse a slap on the hindquarter. 'Good luck, Renna. Garec will be down to say good-bye in the morning.'

Moving to Wretch, he grimaced. 'You, on the other hand I have half a mind to leave you tied to this tree.' He glanced over at Versen before adding, 'No, I'm just kidding. Maybe your next owner will be a true equestrian.' Wretch gave him a dispassionate look, then bent to continue cropping the undergrowth.

Mark was still stroking the ungrateful animal when he noticed a strange tree across the grove, a large pine; he had not seen it there before. It captured his attention now because it looked dead, as if it had been ravaged by an extremely selective wildfire. He froze. Moving his hand as slowly as possible from Wretch's neck, he tried frantically to get Versen's attention without shouting or moving. He was not certain how an almor detected its prey.

The burly woodsman saw Mark waving over at him and called, 'What's the matter with you? Get that saddle off and let's get busy. We have a hole to dig.'

It was too late to warn him. The demon exploded from the ground between them and Mark heard Versen scream as he fell backwards into the underbrush. For what felt like a lifetime, Mark watched as the almor reached out with one shapeless, glowing white arm to grab Brynne's horse bodily from the ground. The animal gave a terrified scream, shrill, like a tortured child, before choking to a sickening silence as the creature sucked its life force dry. It took just seconds, Mark realised dully. The almor tossed the husk of skin and bones to the side; it glanced off a tree before shattering into pieces on the soft needle carpet.

Mark sprinted back through camp. 'Run!' he screamed. 'The almor!' For two or three heartbeats, Brynne looked confused, until she saw Sallax grab his saddlebag and begin running towards the canyon. She reached for Mark's outstretched hand and sprinted off behind her brother. Mark did not look back. He leaped over their campfire, half-dragging Brynne along behind.

Sallax paused once to check they were following. He couldn't see Versen, or hear him either, but there wasn't time to search. 'Hurry!' he called. 'It can move very fast and get away from the river!' Then he was gone, disappearing up the narrow path towards the Seer's Peak trailhead. Mark and Brynne followed on his heels. Mark didn't want to run faster than Brynne for fear the beast might suddenly appear and take her, but she speeded up markedly when the demon gave an unholy cry from the canyon entrance behind them. It echoed about the rock walls of the narrow crevasse, sounding like the collective pain and suffering of generations of oppressed souls screaming at once.

'Lords, what is that thing?' Brynne called between shallow breaths.

They hurried after Sallax as he burst through a thickly overgrown stand of trees and began climbing the lowest slopes of Seer's Peak. The mountain was dotted with trees and shrubs nearly all the way to its broad, flat apex and Mark realised the almor could easily find some fluid pathway to cut them off.

There was no way they would be able to maintain this pace until they reached the safety of the granite expanse above the tree line. Already he was slowing, his diaphragm cramping stiffly and his lungs feeling as if they were about to burst. Remembering the tremendous blast Gilmour had produced in Estrad to divert the almor, Mark wished he had thought to ask the old sorcerer what he had meant by explosions aren't magic explosions aren't magic.

Mark searched the trail above in the fading sunlight. They needed to reach a safe place soon; having to flee from the almor in the dark would be disastrous. 'Someplace dry,' he panted, 'where can we find someplace dry?'

They were still running at full speed when they rounded the trail's first switchback. With darkness nearly upon them, Mark saw it, stretched out above like a titanic grey blanket thrown up against the side of the mountain: a rockslide. He shouted ahead, 'Sallax, stop.'

'Stop?' he heard Brynne cry, 'no! We have to keep going that thing could be right behind us!'

Sallax slowed to a jog, then turned to face them. A look of disappointment flashed across his face, as if he had to accept that something might best him, that this demon, a nightmare creation of the most twisted god, might beat Sallax of Estrad. As quickly as it appeared, however, the look was gone.

'What?' he asked. 'What do you suggest we do?'

Without slowing, Mark moved past him off the trail and up into the rockslide. 'Come up here, now,' he commanded. 'It's a more difficult path, but there are no plants or trees.' Surveying the rocky field, he explained, 'The almor: it travels through water, doesn't it? So it might not be able to reach us out here.'

Sallax understood what Mark was planning before he finished speaking; he climbed onto the rockslide behind the nimble foreigner.

Brynne joined them, but said sceptically, 'We can't possibly climb this at night, Mark. It's worse than scaling a building we'll be dead in half an aven.'

'We'll be dead in less than that out there,' Sallax told her and pulled her up to balance beside him.

Mark, suddenly feeling more at home, caught his breath and explained some basic climbing rules. 'This isn't any more difficult in the dark than it would be at midday. Climbing a slope this steep means you have to get a feel for the mountain. Climb in a steady rhythm and you'll grow less tired. Be sure to check every hand and foothold before you put all your weight on it. Most important, don't panic. For every loose purchase that fails below you, there are up to three holding you fast. Keep your weight into the slope but not against it. Climb the mountain; don't try to slither up it.'

He forced a smile back at Brynne, then went on, 'I'll find the easiest pathway. Stay behind me and use the light from the moons to see where I put my hands and feet. Don't forget: if it supports your weight when you grab it, chances are it will support your weight when you step on it,' and then, in a less confident tone, added, 'but not always.'

Sallax seemed almost excited by the potentially deadly challenge. 'Lead on, Mark Jenkins,' he called, 'we'll be right behind you.' He positively exuded enthusiasm where, just moments earlier, he had been convinced they were lost, that the almor would suck them dry like the stray dog he had watched disintegrate to a leathery shell. Mark had renewed Sallax's confidence; now he was almost willing to fight the demon beast hand-to-hand.

There were plenty of solid handholds at the base of the steep, rocky slope and their initial ascent went smoothly. Brynne found the rhythmic pace of Mark's climb hypnotic and she moved almost without thinking. It didn't take long for the trio to get several hundred paces up the side of the mountain.

'You are skilled at this, Mark,' she called softly.

'Would you believe Steven and I do this for fun as often as possible?' he asked. 'We're actually disappointed weekends we can't risk life and limb. Of course, we try to limit our climbing to daylight avens.'

'What is a weekend weekend?' Sallax interrupted.

Mark chuckled. 'A weekend is a glorious concept I will introduce to all Eldarn if we manage to live until morning.' His right hand slipped and several stones dropped on the others below. 'Sorry,' he called, 'we're coming into a difficult section here, lots of small, loose stones. Be careful.'

Neither Brynne nor Sallax answered; they were struggling to make out the cliff face, trying desperately to get some sort of visual confirmation that their handholds were solid.

Their progress slowed as Mark clawed his way up towards the switchback trail above. The next hundred feet would be arduous and he knew his friends needed a break. Through the dark, he could see neither trees nor shrubs; no complex root systems growing along the path, but even if there had been water flowing there in abundance, the trio would have to stop, risking attack, just to gain a momentary respite from the difficult ascent. He He was an experienced climber and was an experienced climber and his his shoulders and thighs ached: he was impressed with the fortitude Brynne and Sallax were showing as novices on a difficult hill in the dark. shoulders and thighs ached: he was impressed with the fortitude Brynne and Sallax were showing as novices on a difficult hill in the dark.

When the demon creature burst from the trail above, Mark's heart sank. Towering over the rocky hillside, a glowing, formless wall of undulating fluid, the almor screamed down at them. Mark thought he could see into its eyes, vacant pools of suffering and death.

'Wait!' Sallax cried. 'Stop here.'

Laughing a response to abject terror Mark replied, 'I hadn't planned on going much further, Sallax.'

'No, I mean it can't reach us here.'

'How do you know that?' Brynne asked, her voice trembling.

Mark realised what Sallax meant. 'Because it would have already,' he told her quietly. 'We need to stay put, to hang on here as long as possible.'

'And hope it doesn't rain,' Sallax added under his breath.

For the first time since he fell through the far portal in Idaho Springs, Mark was glad days in Eldarn were four hours shorter. Clinging to the side of Seer's Peak, his arms and legs numb, he could do little more than pray, and trust that by remaining completely still he would not fall to his death or, worse, drag the Ronan siblings with him. He guessed it had been three hours since they had last seen the almor. He called to Brynne to find out what time his watch read.

'I don't know, Mark.' She sounded desperate. He ached to be able to whisk her to safety.

'Well, now Brynne, I'm disappointed,' he teased, hoping to lighten the mood. 'After all those lessons, you can't tell me what time it is.'

'I can describe it,' she said. 'Will that help? The long arm is straight up and the small arm is just next to it.'

'To the right or the left?'

'Left. On the rune you called ... um ... levelen.'

'Eleven,' he corrected. 'Great, the news is on. I wonder what the headlines are tonight.' Straining his eyes to see below her, he called to Sallax, 'How are you doing down there?'

'I will be all right.' He did not sound convinced. 'But I'm not sure how much longer we can hang on this slope.'

'I know,' Mark answered, 'but try this, both of you: put your weight on your feet and shake your arms, one at a time. It'll loosen the muscles and alleviate some of the pain.'

'I can't do it, Mark,' Brynne told him plaintively. 'I'll fall.'

'Yes, you can,' he encouraged, 'that's the easy part. The hard part is the next bit: hanging on with your arms and shaking out your legs.'

'No,' she cried again, 'I just can't.'

Mark considered his options, swallowing a curse as he called back to Sallax, 'Don't let her fall, Sallax. I'll be right back.'

'Very well,' the big Ronan answered. Though he sounded defeated, Mark knew Sallax would fight on to the last ounce of his strength.

'Brynne, I'll be back before the long arm reaches the three.'

'I don't remember the three.' She sounded anxious.

'It's the one that looks like breasts on a sleeping woman.'

Sallax grunted in ironic amusement. 'I must learn this system of runes, Mark.'

'Just hang on until the arm reaches the three and I'll be back.' He shook the stiffness from his arms and legs and then, worried he might lose his grip and fall backwards down the slope himself, began hurrying, as fast as he dared, towards the path in the distance. After five minutes of hard climbing, he discovered there was about fifty feet of difficult loose rock before the terrain became more manageable and he could ascend again with some certainty.

By the time he reached the trail, he had worked out how he could rescue the others. Ignoring the potential threat of the almor, he jogged back along the slope until he reached a thin evergreen tree growing along the path. Its growth was stunted by strong winds that raked the sides of Seer's Peak. Although it had shallow roots, there were sturdy branches along its trunk. He wasn't positive it would be long enough to reach Brynne across the expanse of loose stones, but if he wasted too much time questioning his strategy, both she and Sallax would fall. He set about trying to push the tree over.

Mark's watch read 11.22 by the time he reached the upper end of the loose gravel slope. He found two solid rocks on which to brace his feet and shouted to Brynne, 'I'm going to lower a tree down to you. Grab on with all your strength and don't let go. I'll pull you up.'

There was no answer.

'Brynne,' he called into the night, his heart racing, 'Brynne, take hold of the tree. All you need to do is walk up the slope. It's much easier climbing up here.'

'I'll try,' he heard her answer weakly, 'but you are well past the three.'

'I'm sorry, but I am here now, and I'm going to get you to safety. This tree was tougher than I expected.' He braced himself, then yelled down again, 'Sallax, you hang on. I'll send this back in just a moment.'

'I can wait,' Sallax shouted back.

Mark lowered the tree trunk-first, fearing Brynne's hands might slip on the fragile green boughs near the top; he removed his tunic and wrapped it round the top to ensure his own grip held fast.

He still couldn't feel Brynne's weight and was about to call when she shouted up the slope, 'Mark, it doesn't reach.'

'Son of a pregnant, mother-humping bitch!' he cried into the crevasse, then, thinking quickly, pulled the tree back up the hillside. 'Hang on, I'll send it right back.' Resting the tree beside him, Mark removed his boots and stripped off his jeans. Pulling his sweater off as well, he tied the sweater sleeves to the legs of his jeans and secured the jeans to the tree with his belt. 'I hope to God this holds,' he prayed in a whisper, then added, 'and I hope that godforsaken monster doesn't kill me here in my boxers.'

This time his makeshift rescue line reached and he soon found himself hauling Brynne up the slope, heaving with all his might. When he pulled her up beside him, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard on the lips. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and ran his hands through her thick hair and across the supple skin of her face: he had wanted to touch her for days now.

They might have taken things further had Sallax not interrupted from below. 'Hello? I'm still down here,' he called crossly. Mark wasn't sure if he had seen them kissing, no matter how fiercely he burned for Brynne, this wasn't the time.

'Jesus, Sallax,' Mark exclaimed and lowered the tree once again. The big man was much heavier than his sister and Mark slipped twice, almost pitching headlong into the ravine. Once Sallax was safe, Mark retrieved his clothes and let the tree fall down the slope. They watched as it disappeared from sight, then heard it strike the trail far below. No one said anything, though all three wore a look of great relief.

As he pulled on his jeans, Mark caught Brynne watching him by the pale light of the Eldarni moons. He flushed, and fastened his belt before pulling on his sweater. The stolen tunic, now ripped to shreds, was tossed into the darkness.

'Follow me up this slope,' he told the others. 'It isn't far and there are solid rock footholds all the way to the trail.'

When they finally reached the safety of the path, they collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily. Sallax reached over and clapped a strong hand on Mark's forearm. 'That was well done, very brave. You saved us all.'

'Don't mention it,' Mark replied. As an afterthought, he added, 'We were there a long time. Did either of you hear anything of Versen passing us along the trail? I didn't.'

Brynne's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't thought of the woodsman since fleeing the campsite. 'Lords, do you think we lost him?'

'I guess we'll find out tomorrow, when we get off this mountain. That almor leaves behind the barest remains of its victims, but if it took Versen, there should be enough left for us to identify him,' Sallax said, putting into words what they knew, but were hesitant to say out loud. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'right now we have to worry about ourselves, and the others up there-' he pointed up at the wide, flat area atop the mountain. 'They have no idea that thing is coming.'

'Mark, can you get us up there by dawn?' Brynne was worried. 'I mean, we can't go up the hillside again.'

'I can get us there,' he answered, 'but we'll never make it by dawn. We have to risk the trail.'

'So be it.' Sallax punctuated his decision by standing and tossing his saddlebags over one shoulder. He reached down to help Mark to his feet. 'Like breasts on a sleeping woman?'

Mark grinned. 'That's right but if you've never seen any, I'd be happy to explain the concept to you.'

Steven hurried along the trail as quickly as he could without leaving Garec and Gilmour behind. Perhaps he was worried for no reason: maybe his friends had moved their camp to a safer location, inside the canyon and out of the open. But scrambling over rocks along the treacherous pathway, he was certain something dreadful had befallen them; he had a gut feeling he couldn't ignore. If only he had looked over the cliff sooner; they could have been halfway down the mountain by now. Instead, he'd wasted half the day trying to work out the confusing dreams and visions sent to them by Lessek's spirit. He still thought his dream was just that: a memory of three friends together at work, nothing more.

Steven actually remembered that day well; that afternoon he had met Hannah for the first time. Myrna was planning to go out with her friends and Howard had sent him to pick up tickets to a football game that Sunday. There had been nothing mystical, magical, or even questionable about that day at work. Steven played it over in his mind, but every time he came to the same conclusion: Lessek had nothing to say to him, and he was happy with things that way.

Reaching the floor of a shallow gully, he paused to allow Garec and Gilmour to catch up. Seeing Garec in his boots, Steven was sorry he had agreed to trade for the day. Garec's own footwear was made of soft tanned deer hide, but it didn't compare with his own top-of-the-range boots. It was obvious Garec agreed; Steven could only hope he'd get them back one day.

Gilmour was quiet, almost brooding. Although he hustled along at Steven's urging, his thoughts were elsewhere, deep within Riverend Palace or buried among the Windscrolls at Sandcliff. He made Steven promise to reflect on his dream in an effort to uncover anything out of the ordinary; Steven agreed he would investigate every single detail, if only they could just hurry back down Seer's Peak. He needed to know the others were safe after that, he would be happy to spend days days talking about his recollections of Howard and Myrna. talking about his recollections of Howard and Myrna.

Cresting a short rise in the path, Steven could see eastwards towards the sunlit end of the ridge trail. To his surprise, he saw Mark, Brynne and Sallax climbing towards him. Turning back to Garec and Gilmour, he shouted, 'They're here!'

Gilmour looked up. 'Who is here?'

'Everyone, I think well, everyone except Versen. I can't see him yet.'

The old magician hurried up, using Steven's bloodstained hickory stick for support. Squinting at their companions rushing along the dangerous ridge, he calmly warned, 'Get ready. Something's wrong.'

Gilmour handed Steven the staff and dashed along the path with the speed and agility of a mountain goat. Steven could barely keep pace; Garec, still nursing his sore knee, was left well behind.

Working to keep his footing, Steven cursed Gilmour as they trotted over rocks, loose soil and rotting deadwood. Razor-thin bottlenecks had sheer drops to the forest floor on either side.

'He's like a damned Sherpa,' Steven muttered to himself, angry for believing, even for a moment, that there was anything Gilmour could not do. He lost sight of the old man around an enormous boulder that lay directly on the trail, then, hurrying past it, he nearly ran headlong into him: Gilmour had stopped suddenly on the opposite side and was now standing motionless. About twenty paces away, Mark, Brynne and Sallax, mirroring Gilmour, were standing absolutely still as well, their eyes fixed on one another. No one moved or spoke.

'What's happening?' Steven asked of anyone listening.

'Quiet,' Gilmour commanded. 'It's the almor. It has found us.'

Embarrassed that he had been unable to keep up with the older man, Steven swallowed hard and endeavoured to catch his breath quietly.

'Where is it?' he whispered. 'Is it hunting us?'

'It is hunting me me,' Gilmour replied.

Garec had climbed up onto a small pile of rocks some fifty paces behind them; he had his bow at the ready, an arrow nocked and two full quivers at his feet. But even though Steven had never known a bow could be fired with the accuracy and precision Garec showed with every shot, he wasn't filled with confidence; he didn't believe traditional weapons would have any effect on the soul-sucking demon.

Still no one moved. It was the world's largest game of Russian Roulette and no one knew when the gun would fire.

He glanced around at his friends, looking from face to face. Everyone was anticipating the inevitable. When would the gun go off? Whom would the almor choose?

Mark, Brynne and Sallax looked as though they had already been in a war; they were ready to collapse from fatigue. He guessed they had run up the trail overnight to warn him. Versen's absence must mean the Ronan woodsman had been the demon's first victim. What had it been like? Would he have felt the almor grab him from beneath the surface of the ground? Or perhaps his consciousness simply faded to black, like Steven's had when he had his appendix removed.

Versen knew. It had killed Versen and now it was here for Gilmour, and doubtless anyone else who stood between it and the old man. Steven felt fear begin to well up inside him once again, but he forced it back down.