Sgaile had changed since the night he and Osha had placed the dead anmaglahk in the cave. He would have preferred to cremate the bodies and carry their ashes home. But Magiere felt that something else was troubling him. He'd become cautious in covering their trail whenever possible, and often looked anxiously back along their way.

She asked him about his strange behavior, but he only said she read too much into his vigilance. Perhaps this was true, and in any case Magiere had other concerns.

Her dreams had ceased completely-a relief on one hand, and yet disturbing on the other.

She never wanted to hear that hissing voice again, but felt this was only a reprieve-it might come again. And having reached the Everfen, they would soon have to find a way to cross it.

So far, they'd found adequate solid ground, but Magiere had heard accounts of this region. As they crossed its eastern end toward Droevinka, the dry islands and ridges would grow sparse, and then vanish for leagues beneath the swamps.

Sgaile led with Leesil, Chap trotting beside them, until the day grew late. Magiere wasn't sure why, but Sgaile had become even more laconic than before, had been withdrawn and preoccupied since they'd come out of the foothills. She knew she'd never get an answer out of him and didn't try.

Chap pulled up and barked once.

Leesil stumbled under the orb's swinging weight as Sgaile halted. "There is a dwelling up ahead."

"Who would live out here?" Leesil asked.

Wading through the last few yards of mucky water, they stepped up a dry knoll to a small, thatched shack. Its hint of a garden had long gone fallow and an empty chicken coop rotted away along its side. One soggy, aging willow tree stretched up over the roof.

Chap sniffed about the chicken coop as Leesil knocked on the door.

"Hallo?" he called halfheartedly.

Barely waiting for an answer, he shoved the door open, dragging Sgaile along as he entered. Magiere followed and quickly covered her nose and mouth. A fetid stench filled the shack's one room.

"What is that smell?" Wynn said.

Leesil pointed. "Over there."

An old man lay in a ramshackle bed beneath burlap blankets pulled to his chin. He was clearly dead, and his sallow skin had shriveled upon his face beneath thinned, straggly hair.

"He must have died here alone, in his sleep," Wynn said, gasping for air. "A sad thing."

Magiere guessed the man had been dead less than a moon, and she agreed-it would be sad to die alone.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Wynn exclaimed.

Magiere spun about. The little sage looked upward in exhausted relief.

Burlap sacks hung from the rafters and down the walls to keep them free of excess moisture and scavengers. One high shelf above the hearth held tin canisters and an unglazed clay jar. Wynn went straight for the hearth and began digging through the odds and ends. Her brow wrinkled as she inspected a blackened iron pot.

"No rust that I can see," she reported. "Let us hope there are oats and grains or dried peas in those sacks."

She set down the pot, grabbed the clay jar, and lifted its lid.

"Oh," she groaned as if finding a lost treasure. "Honey… honey for biscuits!"

Leesil shook his head. "Just get some water boiling, while we find a better place for the owner to rest."

Magiere looked over at the old man. "We'd better scrap the bedding as well."

Though it felt wrong to invade a dead man's home, no one balked at the prospect of sleeping inside and eating something besides wild game. Leesil and Sgaile rolled the old man up in his bedding and carried him out back to bury him. Magiere shifted the orb to the back corner, then sat on the floor while Osha played assistant to Wynn.

"Go look for rain barrels outside," Wynn told him pointedly. "And do not bring swamp water in its place."

A scowl spread down Osha's long face. He looked thoroughly snubbed as he headed out the door, pot in hand. After some time, Sgaile and Leesil returned, but Sgaile hesitated in the doorway.

"I should scout the area," he said. "So we may choose a final path."

"Forget it," Leesil said, settling beside Magiere. "Just rest, and we'll do that in the morning."

But when Magiere looked back, Sgaile was gone.

Most Aged Father lay deeply troubled in the bower of his great oak. Half a moon past, he had received word from Hkuan'duv, the first in a long while. But the report was worse than expected-beyond displeasing.

Magiere had indeed acquired the artifact.

But A'harhk'nis and Kurhkage were dead, and Hkuan'duv and Danvarfij had lost her trail. The Greimasg'ah and his favored student guessed at Magiere's most likely route and were in pursuit. There had been no further word from Hkuan'duv, and Most Aged Father was left wondering. How did a reckless human woman and her companions continue to elude two of his best anmaglahk?

Perhaps it was Sgailsheilleache's intervention.

Not that Most Aged Father blamed him. He only held to his oath of guardianship and sense of honor. No, the blame lay with the deceitful Brot'an'duive-not the misled Sgailsheilleache.

If Magiere reached these human "sages," it would be harder to retrieve the artifact, and the consequences could be dire. Something so ancient had no place in human hands.

Most Aged Father grew agitated in anticipation of better news.

A soft hum rose in the oak's heart-root surrounding his bower chamber, and he leaned back, closing his eyes in relief. Hkuan'duv had finally called to report.

Father?

The voice threading through the oak into Most Aged Father's mind did not bear Hkuan'duv's cool dispassion. Lyrical but strained, it made Most Aged Father's frail heart quicken.

"Sgailsheilleache?"

A brief pause followed. He had not heard from Sgailsheilleache since the ship had sailed from Ghoivne Ajhajhe.

Father, forgive my long silence… much has happened.

Most Aged Father's first instinct was to rebuke him for his lack of contact. His second was to order Sgailsheilleache to seize the artifact and return. But this was a precarious situation, and he heard pain and doubt in Sgailsheilleache's voice. Whatever had kept him from contact, the dilemma clearly troubled him.

This anmaglahk was balanced on the edge of a knife. He needed reassurance.

"How do you fare, my son? Are you well?"

I am well, Father… His voice broke off and then returned. I still travel with Leshil and the humans. Brot'an'duive felt they would fare better on our ship with an interpreter, and I have… continued my guardianship. But so much has happened… now my thoughts turn circles.

In the mountain peaks, I found A'harhk'nis and Kurhkage slain. I could neither transport nor burn their bodies. I could only ask that the ancestors reach out and guide their spirits home.

Another pause, and a strange edge filled Sgailsheilleache's words when he spoke again.

Do you have knowledge of their mission in that region?

Most Aged Father took his own moment of hesitation. He preferred not to lie outright to one of his own.

"Your news will bring mourning to Crijheaiche. My heart is heavy at their loss. Perhaps your brothers tried to pass over the range and veered off. Kurhkage often coordinated efforts with Urhkarasiferin. They had discussed plans to scout the Ylladon States for potential ways to complicate the Droevinkan civil war. I will speak with Urhkarasiferin, as he may be able to enlighten us."

Yes, Father. Relief filled Sgailsheilleache's voice. That would be appreciated.

"How does your journey fare?"

Magiere has succeeded… but a good distance remains before we can deliver her find to its destination.

Most Aged Father stifled frustration.

Osha and I will travel on to Bela. I will contact you then, on the chance that one of our ships might be near. If not, it will take us longer to return home.