Morgynn's hand clamped over Kaeless's nose and mouth, foregoing magic or dagger so she could feel the life ebb between her fingers. In moments, her mother's eyes glazed over, her trembling stopped, and the battle was over. A chant arose among the Gargauthans in the blasted field, a prayer to their devil-god. Morgynn heard them, but did not listen. She sat and stared at the hands she had felt melting away in a grave of ooze as demons had bargained over her soul. A gust of the north wind blew across the small hill, and she marveled at the gooseflesh that arose along arms covered in scars and blood.

Panting, Morgynn awoke. Recognizing her surroundings, she rubbed her forehead and her eyes, trying to clear the fog. The plains and the Sedras camp were gone, replaced by her chamber atop the tower of Jhareat. The dreams had ended. Morgynn sat on the edge of the divan, bent at the waist, rubbing her temples and shutting out the phantom noises of her awakening. Khaemil was nearby; she felt the vial of his blood at her belt stir and churn. He could wait. She sat still for a long time, trembling as her emotions ran amok. No matter how much she slept, she always awoke exhausted.

Morgynn descended the stairs carefully, weary from dreaming too long. Near the bottom, she heard voices outside. Talmen's was one-his voice and emotions were known to her through the connection she'd forged on his forearm. Khaemil was the other. She stopped to listen before revealing herself. Tracing a finger lightly on the wall and whispering a spell, the stone became as clear as glass so she could watch them, though they could not see her. "She sleeps still?" Talmen asked. "No, she has awakened. Her screams stopped only moments ago."

"Ah, then she has rested. Good. Matters are grim enough without having to worry about her judgment." Khaemil turned away from Talmen, facing the wall, smiling and shaking his head. "Did you honestly think you would come to this point and not have your precious life threatened by some enemy? Or would you prefer that we choose a more fitting location for your Order, some place uninhabited and far away, perhaps?" "I am no coward, shapechanger. My only fear is that our ambitions may exceed our ability. We have traveled across half of Faer?n, growing in numbers but dwindling in prospects. Any reservations I have concerning this one are well founded, I assure you." Khaemil smirked and looked sidelong at Talmen. "Your doubts will mark you, human. Leave them behind when we march or they will pierce your flesh and put your body in the grave where your mind already rests." He looked back to the tower's entrance as Morgynn appeared. "This, I assure you." Morgynn stood with her fingertips pressed to her temples. Her eyes were closed as she walked, but her form was straight and her step was sure.

Despite the lingering distress of her nightmare, she was confident in her bearing. Talmen and Khaemil parted as she neared and passed between them. Her hands slowly left her aching head. Stretching her neck in a spasm that helped to separate physical action and wild emotion, she opened her eyes and beheld the monstrous troops that lay waiting on the field of stone. Although few in number compared to the garrison she hoped to command one day, the nature of the minions would be both horrific and daunting to any enemy. "I commend you, Malefactor. Your wizards and priests have done well." She favored him with a look over her shoulder. "The malebranche will be interesting to observe in battle. What little there may be." Talmen bowed. Morgynn was amused by the change in the priest's thoughts and actions now that she was in his presence. "Thank-you, Lady Morgynn, but our servants are summoned merely to complement your own. The bathor numbers far outweigh my Order's meager contribution." "Very good," she replied.

"Go. Take your place and gather them. Our path will be prepared shortly." "Yes, my Lady." Talmen walked swiftly toward the forest's edge. He showed no emotions, but she felt him tremble beneath his mask as he stared into the trees and gripped the scar seared on his arm.

Khaemil's words still echoed in his mind, and Talmen endeavored to bolster his feelings to match his show of courage. She left his mind then, confident that his fear of her was greater than his fear of death. "I wager he will soil himself if the oracles have a guard posted at the gate, my lady," the shadurakul said over the droning work of the wizard-priests around the tower. The humor in Khaemil's jest was not lost on her, but her mind was elsewhere as she scanned the damp ground. "No doubt. But as long as he makes it that far, his fear is irrelevant." Finding what she sought, Morgynn knelt on the ground, tracing long fingers around a puddle of water. She mumbled words of magic and waved one hand erratically over the water's surface while the other reached for a pouch at her side. A sliver of wood appeared in her hand from the pouch-a splinter from the ancient scrying bowl in Goorgian's Well. It would be a catalyst for her spell to allow her simple scrying to become more intrusive than her targets might enjoy. Completing the words of the spell, she finished the incantation by biting her lip and drawing blood. This she spat in the center of the puddle and it flashed with light, dimming to show a scene of swirling mist and impenetrable gray. "Sisters," she whispered, focusing on the materializing image of the pale grove of oaks hidden in the forest. Their leafy voices emanated from the water, sounding hollow and far away. Though their words were unintelligible, their tone of defiance was unmistakable. From her pouch, Morgynn produced the Stone of Memnon and held the glossy black stone above the puddle, dipping it to brush the surface. Tiny ripples tore through the sylvan scene. Its effect on the trees was immediate, causing the branches to twist and writhe as they'd done before when confronted with the artifact. "What do you want, blood-witch?" She ignored their insult, admiring their tenacity and empathizing with their anger. "A path. You three together have much control of the forest. I desire that you part the undergrowth and allow my followers to pass. East, if you please." They did not respond, but the sounds of a disturbance in the forest served as their answer. Morgynn watched eagerly. To her left, trees parted, roots shifted, and entangling vines and bushes pulled back, revealing a wide road of soft soil. The leaves in the image of the grove shook and hissed as the sisters spoke. "Our influence reaches far, but not to the other side. You must forge your own road beyond ours." "We shall make do," Morgynn replied, and dismissed the image in the puddle. Rising, she brushed mud from her red robes and discovered Talmen standing at the edge of the road, staring into the shadowy avenue that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. She touched a fingernail to her arm in a place corresponding with the dark glyph on his. Morgynn revealed the true extent of the link she had forged into his skin and spoke, her words resoundingly loud in his mind. "Follow the path as far as it goes. The bathor will clear the rest." He nodded, clearly unnerved by the sudden command, then shouted to those waiting behind him. Morgynn smiled as they marched into the Qurth. She felt the weakening pulse of her children as they moved away from her, leading her army to the gates of Brookhollow and the doorstep of the Hidden Circle.

Sodden grass lay bent and broken across the western edge of the Reach in the wake of the heavy rain still moving southward along the Qurth's border. In the midst of the swamped plain, a solitary figure paused in her travels and gathered the ingredients of traditional magic. The ancient language of the Ghedia, the grass witches of the Shaar, sang in the air. Mud sucked at the Ghedia's bare feet as she circled a pot of boiling water. Floating reeds churned and tumbled on its surface. Her loose clothing rippled in the wind and beaded bracelets dangled from her wrists, clicking like tiny wind chimes as she waved her arms and hummed, working the old magic of the Shaar. As she hummed, she traced a stick through the mud every so often, writing down what she saw in the boiling pot. Her deep voice continued the casting song of her ancestors, but her mood grew grim as understanding dawned on her. Her Ghedia sisters had already moved on, wandering the troubled grasslands of the Reach seeking answers and signs, protecting anything sacred as well as the ancestral ground of the Shaaryans.