Welstiel rolled in his dormancy, the sleep of the undead, trying to hide his dream-world eyes from the black-scaled coils swirling on all sides of him. Like dunes of obsidian sand in a windstorm, they undulated with no beginning or end. In this dream place he returned to so often, his eyes would never close, and watching the coils for too long made him tremble with nausea.

He had thought his dream patron would be angry, but he felt no ire or irritation surrounding him. He felt nothing but alone-and watched.

"Please… give me your counsel," he whispered.

The answer echoed into his thoughts from far away.

Continue… follow.

Welstiel rolled again in dormancy. His patron's black coils faded to the monotone darkness of sleep. He thrashed over on his side and out of slumber, fully conscious.

He sat up on the floor of an abandoned shrine on a forgotten trail off a back road in Droevinka. Stone walls were stained by age and grime, and the pillared archway had lost its door to rot in years past. He and Chane had taken refuge here before dawn as they tracked Magiere inland. The altar behind him was devoid of statuary or emblems, any such likely stolen long ago after devotees had abandoned this place's spiritual patron. Leaves, blown soil, and debris had thickened in the corners and crevices, and spindly weeds sprouted here and there.

He stood up, still shaken from communing with his dream patron, and looked about. "Chane?"

His companion was gone. How long had the sun been down? Lately, when rousing from his vivid communions, Welstiel's internal awareness of the sun became less and less acute. This disturbed him as he stepped outside.

The thick forest was quiet except for the infrequent call of a bird and the patter of drizzle. There wasn't even a breeze to rustle brush and branches. He remembered they had passed a tiny village-barely a collection of huts-shortly before dawn. Chane had been restless. Had the fool gone to feed?

Welstiel stepped back inside to gather his things and don his cloak, preparing to search for Chane, and then he stopped. He was alone, and while traveling with a companion, such moments would be rare.

He had not quite realized how difficult it would be to track Magiere, as she could move freely during the day while he had to take shelter. After the past few nights' journey, he had an unpleasant idea of where she might be going.

She headed southeast at first, which had confused him. He expected her to leave the Vudrask River and turn north into Stravina. He almost lost track of her on the night after she abandoned the barge, and he sent Chane on an errand in order to gain a few moments' privacy to scry for Magiere's whereabouts.

He couldn't waste another moment alone.

Kneeling in the shrine, Welstiel removed a brass dish from his pack and placed it on the mulch-strewn floor with its domed back facing up. Murmuring guttural words, he drew his dagger and sliced a shallow cut in what remained of the little finger of his left hand. He watched his own black fluids drip once, twice, three times to collect in a tiny bulge at the center of the plate's back. The stub of bone in his little finger felt warm. It took a moment's focus of his will to close the tiny wound.

The dark droplet upon the brass plate's back began to move. It ran slow in a short line away from the center, heading east by southeast.

Welstiel cleaned the plate and dagger, tucked them away, and stepped back outside, prepared to hunt for his errant companion, Chane.

There was no longer any doubt. Magiere headed toward Chemestuk.

Wynn watched Magiere and Leesil across the fire as they whispered to each beneath their blanket. Foolish though it was, this familiar sight made her lonelier with each passing day. She did not wish to invade their newfound closeness, but it made her feel like an outsider.

Nothing on this journey was as she had imagined.

It never occurred to Wynn what life might be like without the constant presence of her mentors and fellow sages. Orphaned as a child, she had been taken in by the Guild of Sagecraft in the kingdom of Malourne across the ocean. In the excitement of the journey's start, Magiere's smoldering demeanor and Leesil's constant humor were an enticing change from all she had known. But after so many days of travel, she missed Domin Tilswith and the comforts of the sages' barracks. At least Chap was constant as her main companion. She ran her fingers through the fur on the dog's neck and heard his rumble of content in return.

She had envisioned herself as the useful scribe and translator for Magiere and Leesil, not unlike the journeyman sages assigned to some noble's house and fief back in her homeland. She would record the details of these foreign lands for the guild's records, expanding upon the vast knowledge the sages swore to safeguard for civilization. But Magiere and Leesil spoke the language of Belaski and had not needed her skills, and now to her frustration, they were in Droevinka. Magiere was the only one fluent in the local language, but even Leesil spoke it well enough to get by.

Wynn, who spoke seven languages, did not speak Droevinkan. Not yet.

Leesil tried to tutor her, but she was at a loss every time they had passed through one of the local villages. Worse, Magiere pressed them onward at a tiring pace. There had been little time to record anything of note-of what little there was to note. The weather was cold and wet, and she did not think she could choke down one more dried biscuit for breakfast. She longed for intelligent conversation and a bowl of warm lentil stew with tomatoes and rosemary. And watching Magiere and Leesil, she wondered what it would be like to nestle beneath a blanket, exchanging whispers of forgotten histories and faraway civilizations… with Chane.

Wynn stiffened.

She pushed away such an unsettling notion. Loneliness was getting the better of her. Self-pity was as pointless as pining for a past moment lost forever.

Weighing more heavily upon her was a growing sensation of betrayal, now that she had spent so many days in the company of Magiere. She had not exactly lied about her reasons for making this journey, but she had omitted the fact that Domin Tilswith placed upon her the task of observing Magiere. This had been his reason in sending Wynn, since she had already established a connection with Magiere. He wanted specific accounting of every aspect of the "dhampir" badly enough to send his apprentice off with two hunters of the undead-three, counting Chap.

At first, this unique task was the promise of adventure, and her domin's confidence filled Wynn with pride. She had been raised by the sages, who cared for her health and happiness, and could provide the guild with something no one else could. But the reality of secretly studying a traveling companion and then documenting her findings made Wynn feel like a spy. Once she had almost told Magiere the whole truth but thought better of it at the last moment. She could never predict how Magiere might react to anything, and Wynn feared being sent back on the first available barge headed downriver.

Wynn reached inside her pack and pulled out a squat cold lamp. She lifted its tin lid and glass cylinder and removed the small crystal it held in place of a wick. She rolled the crystal between her fingertips. There was little to note regarding Magiere, as yet, but they had been in Droevinka for some time. At least she might document the climate and land so far. Standing, she tried to smile at Magiere.

"I think I will scribe some notes for a while."

Magiere nodded. "Then get some sleep. And try to stay close to the fire. The nights here will keep getting colder."

Wynn retrieved her materials and, with the cold lamp and crystal in hand, stepped a short ways off to sit upon a downed tree. She gently rubbed the crystal between her palms and returned it to its holder in the lamp. Its light burst out to push back the dark and illuminate the tools of her trade resting upon her lap.