"How do you do?" Quindar asked. He stood in front of the seated giant and they met eye-to-eye. Quindar felt sure he looked to the giant even smaller than he himself felt.
The giant looked at Quindar and spoke something in a foreign language. Quindar smiled; though he didn't understand it, it was clear that the giant was friendly. Perhaps it was only in the stories of old women that giants were mean, brutish, and evil. He raised the sunburst amulet he wore around his neck and pronounced a simple blessing upon him. The giant appeared content.
Quindar went back to his table and began to read again, but his concentration had been disrupted. The more he tried to meditate, the more *something* seemed to pull at the back of his mind. He closed the book and bowed his head in prayer. Something was very wrong in this place, and once he realized it, he was unable to let it go. Intuitions like this were not to be ignored, especially by a member of the Order.
Quindar stepped out of the inn. There was something evil about, and almost by instinct he began to search for its source. Like the traces of ink that remained on bleached parchment, he could sense the presence of a powerful magic that had been worked here. As he often did, he trusted to his instincts and began to prepare for a journey.
Supplies were easy to come by here, and merchants were all too willing to help a holy man. Soon, he had procured provisions for the next several days and a sturdy horse which would make the going much faster. Where was he to go? North, he said to himself. North and east. To a place called... No, the name eluded him as yet. He could see it, a high, weather-beaten rock spire, several days off. A vision of this power seldom came to any but the most faithful of the Order, and Quindar surmised that it must be of grave importance. He began to set off immediately.
As he rode north, he watched carefully for signs of others who might have preceded him. Although he was no tracker, Quindar found enough around him to convince him that others were not far ahead. An occasional human footprint or a bit of charred earth kept him on the trail, but there were other signs, these more disturbing than the rest.
Once, some distance from the town, he saw a set of horseshoe marks. He was about to pass these over, but something unusual caught his eye about them. The prints were extremely deep, as if the horse had carried a great weight. What was puzzling was that the tracks were made at high speed -- something which he clearly had no explanation for.
But such mysteries always have a solution, he reminded himself. His lot was now to catch up to the people ahead of him and determine what they knew. Already, he had a picture of what they would be like: Adventurers, no doubt. Probably looking for the same thing he was. They might be helpful, but it was his guess that they were fleeing from something... And this made Quindar profoundly uneasy.
Any number of lesser-travelled roads would serve her purpose. Some were lightly-travelled, but wound through respectable villages and were universally known as "good" routes. Others were studiously avoided by all but the strong and the foolish. But Nyx had known from the moment she had decided to attend the rendez-vous, she would go by way of Elrich's Pass.
It was, by far, the most direct route to the mountains, cutting due north, unmarked by any towns, or even military outposts. It was also the most perilous stretch of road anywhere south of the mountain ranges. No respectable traveller even considered the Pass when planning a journey. It was not even patrolled by the smallest of forces. Officially, the region around the Pass was said to be too dangerous to patrol. Any attempt to do so would be comparable to lining up a patrol force and shooting an arrow through the forehead of each of its members. Not to mention the fact, it was added unofficially, that no one cared to spend time, money or manpower to protect people of the sort who would be found on Elrich's Pass. That desolate way was travelled only by thieves, murderers, brigands of the worst description. . . and Nyx.
There was, as far as she could tell, no particular reason why she *should* take that route; she really had no need to hurry, and she wasn't, to her knowledge, being followed by anyone. The fact remained, though, that it would cut at least a day from her journey, thus ensuring that she could arrive first at the Spire. When dealing with any unknown, or in this case, a whole group of unknowns, she'd take whatever advantage she could get. Besides, although she was not sufficiently foolhardy and arrogant to think that she'd be in no danger, or to take the path simply to prove that she could, she knew that her professional skills were considerable, and would be as close as possible to a guarantee of safe passage. She had no particular desire to be forced to defend herself, but she certainly wouldn't shirk from the possibility of combat.
So thinking, Nyx tied the last strap on the last of her bundles, ensured that her sword was ready at her side, and that the various other tools of her trade were within easy reach, and set out on foot.
Dawn was just breaking over the distant, but clearly visible, mountains when she reached the beginning of Elrich's Pass. She had come through the forests, partly to stay hidden from the village she had left the previous evening, partly because it was the quickest route, partly because she *liked* the forests. Now, as she faced the Pass, she was stricken, as she always was when she ventured that way, by the awesomely forbidding beauty of the treacherous roadway.
Roadway was rather too strong a word for it, she reflected, pausing to re-adjust her bundles. It was little more than a track, cutting through dense, dark forests (the rumours of what happened in those forests were enough to touch the stoutest soul with an icy finger of fear), across increasingly desolate and bare plains (which were, almost as frightening, because the traveller was left exposed, with virtually no chance of a hiding place), and eventually cresting the foothills that led to the base of the mountains, where she would find Elsies' Spire. By experience, Nyx knew that the narrow path made defence difficult; there was rarely sufficient room to manuever a sword with any degree of accuracy. Almost unconsciously, she fingered the dagger at her waist, and bent to correct the position of the knife in her boot-top.
Experience had also taught her that she would hurry through the Pass. It was a short route, but it was always made longer by the sense of forboding that seized her when whe travelled there. Never had she given way to panic, but she pushed herself well beyond her usual endurance before stopping to break camp. It was not unusual, at her quick pace, for her to cover 30 miles in a day. On Elrich's Pass, she generally made at least 40, sometimes even pushing it slightly higher to avoid spending an extra night on the path.
The sun was fully up now, and Nyx realized she could waste no more time. She would have to stop in time to be concealed, for safety's sake, before nightfall. She was not given to singing as she walked, nor did she speak out loud when alone. Instead, she took one last glance at the familiar woods behind her, and set out silently on Elrich's Pass.
**********
Shortly before sundown, Nyx reached a point well-known to her of old. A slight dip in the road, denser-than-usual foliage. . .and a cave, just off the road. Less a cave, really, than an alcove in the side of the hill, barely big enough for her to squeeze into. Protected on all sides, it was small enough that there was no chance of anyone's ambusing her there, and she had never known any animals to inhabit it. For that matter, she reflected, she'd never known any animals to live anywhere along Elrich's Pass. It was as if they, like humans, lived in fear of the usual travellers of the road, and conducted their natural goings on as far from it as possible.
Only a few yards from the cave, Nyx paused. Something wasn't right. Crouching low, almost invisible from any direction, she held herself very still, and listened. Someone was in the cave. Asleep, by the regular sound of the breathing. She didn't allow herself the luxury of cursing; that might alert others to her presence, but it must be confessed that her thoughts more than bordered on the profane. Here was a fix. It was too late to find another place to spend the night; dangerous enough by day, to stay abroad after nightfall on Elrich's Pass was suicide. She couldn't stay in the cave if it was already occupied, and she didn't relish the thought of killing its occupant as he slept. No warrior worth her salt (not even a mercenary, such as Nyx was) would kill a defenseless being in his sleep. On the other hand, such codes tended to be suspended on Elrich's Pass. The very fact that the other person was travelling that route was more than sufficient reason to regard him as dangerous, and to act quickly in self-protection. Even so. . .
She wouldn't kill him (or her, or it. . . there was no knowing *what* might be in that cave), at least, not until he emerged. She surveyed her surroundings quickly. Nothing but trees, really. Very well then. With a snort, to convey her own disgust with herself, and her amusement at her predicament, Nyx once again adjusted her bundles and swung herself into the nearest tree. The tree was an old one and, she realized, offered excellent camouflage from the ground below. The branches were thick and sturdy, supporting her weight easily, and the foliage was thick enough to hide her from any prying eyes. Midway up the tree, she paused. This branch was broad, and would make a reaonable stopping point for the time being. She opened a flap in one of her bags, extracted a pouch with some dried meat and bread, and sat down to eat, keeping one eye on a gap in the leaves, from which she could clearly see the mouth of the cave.
The darkness was now complete, and Nyx realized that she would need sleep if she was to continue her journey the next day. There had been no sign of movement from below, and she couldn't begin a search now for a more suitable bed. So thinking, she clamoured down a few branches and strapped most of her bundles to the tree. She then returned to the higher bough, carrying only a blanket and her weapons. She rolled herself in the blanket, hung the weapons at the ready around her, willed herself to awaken at the slightest movement from below, and went to sleep.
Near midnight, she awakened. There was no doubt in her mind, someone on the ground below had moved. Moving silently, with no trace of sleepiness to muddle her movements, she set aside her blanket, careful not to let it fall to the ground, buckled her sword to her side, and arranged her other weapons. Quickly and soundlessly, she moved down the tree, until she was perched on a low branch, only a few feet from the tiny cave.
Her eyes had already accustomed themselves to the darkness, and she could make out a shadowy figure below her. It was large and burly, muffled in some sort of cloak, and it appeared just to have emerged from the cave. Her senses were on the alert, as she watched its movements.
The figure seemed to be just awakening, stretching and flexing as if to ready itself to return to the road. Praying ferverently to every god she knew that he'd continue on his way without noticing her, Nyx nonetheless prepared herself for action. It was well that she did.
Although Nyx had made no sound, the other figure's senses seemed to be as attuned to the night as were hers. Possibly even more so. Without warning, he spun and looked directly at the spot where she was perched. He obviously couldn't see her, but that didn't seem to matter. She felt exposed.
The man. . . she was sure now that it was a man. . . began striding towards the tree. He was more silent than anyone she'd ever seen before, and seemed keenly intent on making his approach unnoticed. Indeed, she found it hard to follow his progress as he quickly drifted across the short space between the cave and the tree. All that alerted her to his nearness was a strange disturbance in the air. Magic, she was certain, and she tasted fear. She couldn't hope to defend herself if he had opportunity to formulate a spell. And how could she be certain he hadn't already? Perhaps if she leaped to attack, she'd find herself overpowered before hitting the ground. She paused again, and felt a faint tingling at the base of her skull. Somehow, she knew, he was searching for her. If she could attack before his mind found her and targeted her. . .
She dropped from the bough, catching it at the last moment with her hands, and swinging herself forward in a long athletic arc. Timing it carefully, she let go of the bough as she swung forward, and she was flying through the air. Unbelievably quickly, she felt her feet bury themselves in the man's midriff, grinding bone and bruising tissue as they went. Twisting in mid-air, she managed to roll away from him, avoiding being caught against him as he fell. She hit the ground hard, but there was no time to consider damages. She was on her feet again immediately, pulling free her sword as she leaped to the side of the prostrate figure. If he had even a moment to think, all was lost for her, she reflected in the same instant that her sword arced through the night and severed his head.
She listened again. There seemed to be nothing else living in the night. Indeed, it was hard at the moment to believe that there was anyone or anything else alive in the world. Mechanically, she cleaned her blade, and reflected. Somehow, the incident had bothered her. It hadn't been the killing that upset her; that, she was used to. Nor had it been the fear; she had been overcoming it for more years than she cared to remember. Something about that tingling probe at her mind, the nearness of magic, had unsettled her more than she liked to admit. And, of course, the realization of how close she had come to losing was not a comforting thought.
She couldn't just leave the decapitated body there. Setting her mouth in a grim line, she prepared a shallow grave, and rolled the corpse and the head into it. Muttering a quick prayer for the soul of her victim--though she was tempted to doubt whether he had a soul--she covered the hole. It was a ritual she had repeated often over the years. She couldn't explain why she did it; there was no obligation to tend to a victim's body. Somehow, though, it made her feel that she had preserved his dignity. Robbing someone of life left her with no qualms, but she couldn't deny anyone's dignity, if it could be avoided.
There were still a few hours to sleep before the night would give way to dawn. She was much too tired--and too sore--to move her belongings to the cave; she'd return to the tree. Moving stiffly, for she'd sustained several nasty bruises when she contacted the ground, she climbed again to her perch, and fell asleep.
When she awoke, dawn was already streaking the sky. She ate a quick meal before resuming her journey. Nyx was still unsettled from the previous nights events, and was in a foul mood because she was unsettled. A mercenary can't afford an over-active imagination, she chastised herself. The only reason you're so upset is that you're on Elrich's Pass, and you're getting paranoid.
Nevertheless, she walked at a quicker pace that day than she had previously, and she didn't slow it any until, late the next day, she reached the base of the mountains. She had only paused for the briefest of sleeps the night before, and had slept fitfully.
Now, as she left the Pass behind her and approached the Spire, she admitted to herself that she had seen few sights as welcome as that great monolith, pointing to the skies, and to the rugged northern lands beyond the mountains. No one would arrive until the next day at the earliest, she was sure. All things considered, it was likely to be 2 days before the party joined her.
At the moment, the danger was less than it had been since she first got the mental picture of the group at Dragon's Inn. She could afford to build a fire, and sleep in some degree of warmth. She found a ledge, slightly off the ground, some distance from the Spire. It would serve well as a campsite, she decided. Quickly, she built a small fire and put a small pot of coffee on to boil. She unrolled her bedding, and settled herself in to wait for the rest of the party.
After the quick escape from the mob in town she had walked to the next town. There after a nights stay in the inn, she kissed the comforts of civilization goodbye , bought the supplies she would need and headed out.
The first day had been easy . The road wound gently through hills and valleys, the cool autumn breeze brought the damp scents of the pine trees to her nose, unafraid of the night with the sheriff's patrols, she walked well into the dark before bedding down for the night with a good calm feeling that all the problems of the last month would be solved just as soon as she reached Else's spire.
The next two days had been harder. Her muscles unaccustomed to the strain of walking all day or sleeping on the hard ground ached under her backpack that now felt as though it weighed a million pounds. Her feet were red, blistered, swollen, and hurt worse with each step. She walked with no energy and would stop early falling into an uneasy sleep before she hit the pillow. She dreamed constantly of a hot bath and her own bed back in Stephan's tower.
Then it became unbearable. The roads no longer gently curved, but climbed steadily higher into the mountains. She had to watch every step because the little traveled routes were deathtraps of loose rocks and shale. She walketh a stick for support after she nearly twisted her ankle for the fifth time. Dirty and tired she slept fitfully in the tent listening to the cold mountain wins blow down from the north.
It was the last two days that were the worst. No one patrolled this far into the mountains, and she hadn't seen a person, town, or sign of life for days. The road was little more than a trail at parts and she couldn't afford to lose her way up here. She didn't sleep at night keeping watch for bandits or worse. She didn't even build a fire, enduring the cold and eating what little dry food she had left instead of risking drawing anyones' attention. Even during the day she tended to jump at noises and frequently look behind her, only a fool wasn't deathly afraid in this part of the mountains. Even battle hardened warriors tended to avoid this area, and Kaitlyn was no war, only a young mage barely having completed her apprenticeship.
But somehow she survived, and now she had arrived at Else's Spire. Even before it came into vie the smell of the freshly made coffee called to her. Even the smell alone seemed to revive her and tired, dirty Kaitlyn almost sprang into the clearing.
The woman who sat by the fire wasn't someone Kaitlyn new. She was a fighter obviously by the way she dresses, her physique, and movements, but what was she doing here? Was she a outlaw, bandit, or what? Kaitlyn hesitated, she couldn't take this woman in a fight and she didn't trust her magic. Kaitlyn was scared. Then the memory hit her. Hadn't she seen her when they left the inn? Wasn't that woman in the crowd? But she hadn't looked bloodthirsty and possessed like the others. She had looked .... Confused? Had she heard Kaitlyn's shouted command to meet here? Taking a chance Kaitlyn went over to her...
Anyone walking from Damion's tower to Elsie's Spire would have probably needed a fortnight for the journey. Most of that time would have been spent zigzagging east and west to avoid certain ambush sites favored by bandits human and inhuman alike. A firedrake, however, would fly over bandits, mountains, rivers, and other obstacles which would hinder a grounded traveler. Flying straight north, a firedrake could make the trip to Elsie's Spire in just one night.
Unfortunately, Damion was not a firedrake. He was a wizard in the shape of a firedrake, which meant that he was having quite a bit of trouble navigating. Most of the landmarks he knew from his maps were drawn from a human perspective, and they looked very different from four thousand feet in the air. Finally, as Damion flew over a certain patch of forest for what he was willing to swear was the fifth time, he gave up and began to spiral down for a landing. As he was about to land, he was struck by the stench of death. The drake landed, then drew it's wings into itself. The drake began to shrink and dwindle, until in its place stood Damion, flexing sore arms and sniffing the air suspiciously. He certainly didn't see anything, but that didn't mean much.
Whatever it was that was dead, it certainly wasn't going to be dangerous. Raising his staff, Damion called for light -- quietly, so as not to draw too much attention to himself. As the magelight blossomed from his staff, he looked down to find himself standing on a patch of recently turned earth. Damion drove the butt of his staff into the ground so it would stand erect...and stopped dead as he hit something that was definitely not earth. As he pulled his staff out of the ground, he caught a strong whiff of what he'd impaled and vaulted off the grave with a yelp.
After several deep breaths, Damion managed to calm himself down. Reaching into his satchel, he tossed a fine silver powder onto the air and prayed to the Veiled Lady, hoping for peace to this poor one's soul. It seemed to be the limit of what he could do. As he sat down on a nearby rock to look at his map, he caught sight of a metallic gleam. Curious, he bent to look. The object that had caught his attention was a short, heavy, steel chain:only about four inches long. There was a solid clip clasp on either end of the chain.
Damion looked at the chain reflectively. Finally, he said softly "Chainman". He paused for a while. "Damn." His mouth set into a thin line. Tucking the chain into his satchel, he sat down and looked at his maps. It took him twenty minutes to figure out where he was: Ehrlich's Pass, otherwise known as one of the most dangerous and gods-forsaken sections of the mountains. After that, it took him ten minutes to set a course to Elsie's Spire. Gathering his belongings, he stood in the center of the clearing and whirled his cloak about him. The firedrake then pranced in the center of the clearing, stretching its wings once, then launching itself into the air.
An hour later, Damion saw the tip of Elsie's Spire. Rising higher into the air, he circled the top of the Spire. At the base of the Spire, two women sat around a campfire. One of them was Miss Riandryl, the other, their unknown Good Samaritan. Damion circled above the fire for half an hour, watching them silently. He saw no signs of any ambush outside the firelight, and decided it was safe to come down.
Damion immediately turned and soared gracefully over the top of the Spire before curving down into a graceful landing on the far side. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the light of the fire, thinking about it dimming slowly. He quietly slipped around the side of the Spire and smiled with satisfaction as he saw the dimmer glow of the fire. Then he whispered softly "Fiat Nox". As the shadow closed about the campfire, Damion wrapped himself in his cloak and strode forward, seeming to glide over the ground. When he was within the circle of light the fire would have cast before he began his magic, he released both spells, and appeared, seemingly out of thin air. As the two women turned to look at him, he bowed, formally.
"Miss Riandryl and my lady, a good even to you all. May I join you at the fire?"
He would be less conspicuous than by traveling on the road and he would save time by straightening out the switchbacks, curves, and bends that the roads take up in the mountain. He wasn't worried about getting lost. He had had occasion to be up in these mountains before, he had a map, and with his familiar, the hawk Adar Lanach, in constant rapport he could "see" well above the tree tops and the surrounding countryside. this also provided Mac with a scout that cold watch miles in every direction.
Stopping in the last town of sufficient size that his presence would go unnoticed. There were a fair number of trading towns dotting the foothills of the mountains to supply those crazy enough to go hunting, mining, or whatever up in the mountains. There Mac sold his horse and picked up some supplies to last him for the trip, and he was off.
Once he was far enough from the village that he could tell if he was being followed, Mac left the road and headed into the woods. He pulled the hood of his elven cloak up around him and immediately melted into the foliage. His elven boots and elven heritage along with his cloak made passing through the forest easy for the bard. "Sometimes it's not so bad being part elf" Mac thought to himself as he climbed through the wooded countryside.
Mac stopped for a bit of bread, cheese, and ale from his pouch about evening, but continued on after he had finished. His eyes adjusting to darkness as the sun slipped past the mountains, Mac was able to climb the increasingly treacherous rocks. Mac again reflected on how many times his elven blood had helped him through the years. He stopped near midnight, and after another bit of food cast an alarm spell around where he planned to sleep. Adar Lanach fluttered down and settled in a tree after catching himself a dinner of trout in some nameless mountain spring. "You eat better than I do" Mac grumbled at the bird as he pulled an old blanket around himself to ward of the chill since he did not light a fire. The bird only screeched irritably at the bard before falling asleep himself.
Mac awoke sore and stiff the next morning. Grumbling to himself he reached for some more bread and ale that wood serve as breakfast. then he thumbed through his battered spellbook to select the spells he would learn for the day. Mac's spells were an odd assortmant that he had collected, bought, traded, begged, or stolen through the years. Normally he selected spells that he could use in his performances, but today he selected spells that would do a mite bit more than just entertain.
With that done Mac began to walk again. Adar Lanach as usual flew miles over head. When he was not involved in chasing some mountain rodent he would relay information to Mac about the terrain and anything else. Mac used this to folloe the eaiest path finding fords to cross streams and skirting past the ocassioanal band of outlaws.
Shortly after noon Adar spied Elsies Spire and Mac saw that both Kaitlyn and the wizard Damion something had made it safely there. Another was with them, a woman, a fighter by appearance Mac guessed. Since the three talked and ate peacefully Mac figured that was no problem and continued an his way.
An hour later, after climbing and struggling up a none to kind mountain path. Mac arrived at the spire thinking darkly to himself that he was getting much to old for wandering in the woods miles from a warm fire, good meal, and cold tankard of al e. As he emerged from the woods he pushed back his hood. He seemed to materialize right out of the surrounding bush without making a sound. "Could ye spare a drop ouor to ta drink, and a we crumb to eat for an aging bard who has traveled far for many a cold and lonely night?" he grinned at the three who stared at the bard who had appeared seemingly from no where.
He found a spot in which he could hide and rest. It would take a few days to heal enough to make the rest of the journey, even with his *gift*. He no longer slept the way other humans did, he meditated. It was a state in which he found restfulness and contentment. Temperature did not bother him nor was he truly asleep.
Sometimes, he wondered just how far apart from the human species did such mental discipline place him. Such rigorous training was not the norm when he had changed the course of his life, much less nowadays. Most fighters he encountered these days were primarily mercenaries, anything goes as long as they win. No regard for style or skill.
He laughed at himself. The man that had almost killed him was an exception. That one surely spent as much time practicing his art as himself. Hu-Su *knew* that he had been more than lucky in catching the Cavalier by surprise and that he would *not* survive another encounter with the man.
He thought about what had happened that night. The Cavalier had not been under the influence of what had affected the town. Nor did it appear that he had been part of the cause. Then what was he doing there? The man had probably spoken the truth about his intentions. But there were few people that routinely carried devices such as shackles.
He wished to help Kaitlyn, but magic was well beyond his understanding. He was however, experienced at obtaining magical ingredients, which he did on a regular basis to support his monastery. Perhaps they would need some to remove the curse...
Four days later he judged himself ready to travel. The meadowlands were a trap if caught by horse and he had no wish to encounter the cavalier again. He traveled by night until he reached the hill country where his speed, agility and ability to climb would give him an advantage over those on horseback. This was starting to be country with which he was familiar. His monastery, Winters' Retreat, was between one and two hundred miles North East in the mountains.
Hu-Su approached Elsies' Spire around noon on the seventh day. He decided that he should like to be welcomed by people for once so he went out of his way to make noise as he approached. The group that awaited him seemed to be a little tense. He chuckled.
Present was the young woman who had helped them. So were Kaitlyn Riandryl and the half-elf Mac Congline. Damion grey was there as well. The rest had either perished or chosen not involve themselves. He could not blame them...
He realized that the sight of him offended them: battered, dirty, and though the wounds had mostly healed, the old blood was caked around the rips in his clothes. Also, he probably smelled since they were wrinkling their noses at him. He bowed and said "Excuse me while I make myself less offensive to you" and then headed toward the water.
The monk walked around the large pond a ways where he took off his clothes and dove into the frigid mountain water. As he dove into the water none of the party missed the sinewous rippling of muscle on the powerfull frame, the large bruises that were just healing, nor the variety of scars that littered his skin...
It was a tall rock spire near a lake. Already, a number of people were gath- ered near it. He hoped he would arrive before they left. Hurrying onward, he looked up again at the sky through a veil of unfamiliar trees. His gaze focused on something he could see flying high above him. So far above as to appear slow-moving, the creature could not possibly have been a bird; it was many times too large. As he strained to identify the creature, Quindar noticed it had pointed wings and a long, reptilian tail.
"No. That's impossible," he muttered to himself. It occurred to him suddenly to hide. He took cover under a mass of brambles and waited for the thing to pass.
Several minutes later, Quindar got up, dusted himself off, and said a silent prayer of thanks that he had been spared an encounter with the dragon. He again began to walk, constantly glancing at the sky.
The days passed by, and Quindar at length came to the place he had seen in his visions: The lake and the spire, at the foothills of the mountain range. It was early morning; Quindar habitually rose well before sunrise to begin his walks. From some distance away, he spotted the place the people of his vision had chosen to camp in. They too were awake and seemed to be prepar- ing breakfast. He strode into the camp and announced spoke with a quiet self-assurance:
"Good morning, fellow travellers. My name is Quindar and I mean you no harm. I am a cleric of the Order of Nerion, and I followed you here from the Dragon's Inn at the urging of a vision. I understand that you are in need of some help, and I am here to provide it." His gaze fell upon Kaitlyn, and right away he realized that she was the eye of the storm, about which the events of the past weeks had turned. He had found what he had sought in coming to this new land--adventure. This was only the beginning.