"Morhion," Caledan said, as if the word was poison.

The mage approached. He nodded slowly in greeting to each of the companions before returning his attention to Caledan. "What do you want?" Caledan said, standing to face the mage.

"These matters involve ancient magics, Caledan," the mage said unhesitatingly. "The Nightstone is an object of fell sorcery, and the shadow song itself an enchantment of great power. You will need me if you wish to truly understand their nature."

Caledan opened his mouth to protest, but Mari stepped forward and spoke before he could say anything. "We leave from the inn at dawn," she told the mage. Morhion nodded and then lifted his cowl, plunging his face into shadow.

"I will be here. At dawn."

Caledan clenched his fingers into a fist, but the Harper's hand on his arm restrained him.

"Until then," the mage said. He turned and left the room. A chill seemed to linger in his wake.

Silence reigned for a long moment. Finally Caledan spun around to glare at the Harper. "Why did you do that?" he demanded hotly.

"We need the mage, Caledan," she said defiantly. "You know we do. Think of someone other than yourself for a change."

"I think Mari's right, Caledan," Tyveris said solemnly, watching Caledan intently.

Caledan glared at the others. He knew they didn't bear the same enmity for Morhion he did-they were a forgiving lot, maybe to a fault. "I won't deny we are dealing with things-with magic-that we know little about, Harper. But I've already warned you once that the mage does things for his own purposes."

"And what purposes might those be, Caldorien?" Mari responded.

Caledan looked at the others grimly. "Maybe he wants the Nightstone for himself."

Twelve

Mari rose in the dark, before even the first gray light of morning had touched the sky. She dressed quickly in her small room, donning her soft doeskin breeches and a rust-colored coat, over which she threw a thick woolen traveling cloak of her favorite forest green.

She gathered the few items she would need on the journey, packing them in a leather saddlebag. Briefly she considered bringing a roll of blank parchment and a quill, then realized there would be no time-or opportunity-to send another missive to the Harpers of Twilight Hall.

Downstairs she found Caledan already up. Estah and Jolle were helping him gather the gear they would need for the journey. Jolle had brought down a number of swords, daggers, crossbows, and stiff leather jerkins from the attic. "Good morning, Harper," Caledan said with his wolfish smile. "So you decided to get out of bed and join us on this quest after all." Mari held her tongue. She tried on several of the leather jerkins. Finally she found one that appeared to be the right size, but the buckles were stiff and unbending.

"Here. They go this way," Caledan said, reaching roughly around her waist to fasten one of the straps.

Mari jerked away from his grasp. "I can do it myself," she said crisply. Caledan backed off, looking somewhat miffed.

Both Ferret and Tyveris arrived at the inn's back entrance just as Estah was setting breakfast on the table in the kitchen. The monk's timing was impeccable when it came to meals. Afterward, the others sorted through the attic equipment. Ferret selected several sharp daggers, tossing them experimentally in the air to test their weight. Tyveris came across a worn leather jerkin that had once been his. He grinned and pulled it on, then frowned. Unless a miracle were performed, he wouldn't be able to fasten the laces across his stomach.

"I guess being a monk agrees with you," Caledan commented wryly.

"I never liked this ratty jerkin anyway," the loremaster grumped, discarding the garment for a somewhat roomier choice.

Cormik slipped into the inn's back room to bid the companions farewell. Beneath his plain, unobtrusive cloak he was clad in a silken, gold-embroidered tunic. His opulent attire always looked a bit out of place in the rustic inn.

"Any idea how close Ravendas is to finding the Night-stone?" Caledan asked.

Cormik shook his head. "None of my people have gotten close enough to Ravendas to find out."

Mari nervously adjusted the silver Harper's sigil on her jacket, making sure it was concealed for the journey. "She's been digging for months now. She must be close."

Cormik patted her shoulder with a chubby, ring-covered hand. "Don't fear, Mari Al'maren. My associates and I will keep Ravendas occupied while the Fellowship is away." He smiled broadly, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Of course, if you wanted to stay behind, my beautiful Mari, I'm certain I could find some… er, shall we say 'suitable tasks' you could help me accomplish while your friends here are gone."

Mari patted Cormik's cheek fondly and deftly extricated herself from his grasp. "Not in a thousand years," she said with a sweet smile.

"That's impertinent of you, Mari," Cormik said chidingly, and then he laughed. "I like that in a woman. Take care of her, Caledan."

Caledan regarded Mari sourly. "I'll try," was all he said.

After Cormik departed, the companions gathered in the garden behind the inn. As the first amber rays of dawn streaked across the sky, changing it from burnished silver to brilliant azure, Ferret kept watch for any city guards that might wander down the lane. Jolle had retrieved their mounts from the inn's stable, and the companions saddled their horses and loaded their saddlebags. Mista stamped a hoof impatiently.

"Patience. We're almost ready," Caledan told the gray mare, affectionately scratching her chin. She responded by trying to nip his fingers.

As they mounted their horses, Mari took in a sharp breath of surprise. There were five riders assembled in the garden, not four. The mage Morhion was there, clad in midnight blue leather and a cloak of misty gray, sitting astride a black gelding. But she had not heard him and his horse approach. Nor, by their reactions, had the others.

"I see you didn't change your mind," Caledan said, making no attempt to disguise his dislike of the mage. If the words stung Morhion, he did not show it. His regal visage was placid, his blue eyes like iced sapphires.

"I gave you my word I would come," Morhion said. "My word is binding."

Caledan snorted but said nothing more. Mari nudged her chestnut gelding, Farenth, toward the mage.

"I am glad you've decided to come with us," she said to Morhion, trying to keep her voice steady under his disconcerting gaze.

"Is that so, Harper?" the mage asked. His tone was not hostile, but neither was it especially friendly.

Mari shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, doing her best to meet Morhion's eyes. "Yes, it is," she said firmly. "The Nightstone is an artifact of legend, Morhion, of magic. It's simple. We need a mage on this journey."

"Is it as simple as that?" Morhion asked with a faint smile.

Mari gathered her cloak more closely around her shoulders to ward against the damp morning air. "Caledan thinks that you're coming with us for your own purposes. He thinks you wish to obtain the Nightstone so you can wield it for your own ends. Should I listen to him?" She searched the mage's face carefully for any trace of a reaction. His face, however, was as smooth and unreadable as a marble statue's.

The mage shrugged, his golden hair glimmering in the sun. "You yourself must choose what to believe, Harper."

It was time to be off. Estah was scurrying busily about. Every few moments she remembered one more thing the companions just might need and hurried to tuck it away in a pack or saddlebag.

"Enough, wife," Jolle chided her gently, holding her hand firmly. "If you put anything more in those packs, the poor horses are going to collapse."