"Blasted butterflies!" Mecnoarv Snooteliicore flicked his ermine cuffs and leather gloves at migrating monarchs that dripped from sycamore trees to natter about his face. "And blast you, you frightful, feckless nag!" Creed, a chestnut roan, did not listen to his master’s abuse, but continued his course through the woodferns and forest. "Oh, where oh where are we, Creed? Only once – once, mind you…" Creed snorted at him. "Only twice have I fallen asleep, and did you wake me up either time to tell me that we were passing over an actual road?" Seven – or six, or eight – days earlier, after Mecnoarv had parted company with his guide Rootdan, the Short Elf Tarnac and the enchanting hometown ladies, Aeysla and Eedebee – who were staying put until another ship, the Dwarfkeep, arrived – he had fallen asleep on the back of his mount and as a result missed the southbound route to Apocania, to which he was headed on his way back.

"Do you think there is a home to go to?" he asked Creed, using the ruffle of his scarf to dispel a small cloud of butterflies. "If, however, you keep this up, you bag of bones, we shall continue to be nowhere but lost! I will make horse stew out of you, stumbling through these woods with no end in sight. Better! I cage you and these butterflies, along with the deer, raccoons and those little, thieving squirrels! Sell you all to noblechildren for their private zoos, I will!" Mecnoarv shook his fist at a sleeping owl. "Stupid youth anyway!" he accused Rootdan’s ghost. "There he goes, my guide, falling in love with a ship’s captain – but-aah!" A low pinebranch whipped Mecnoarv’s cheek. "Piffle! I was never good with directions." He attempted one more time to discern his location from the overcast sky or any landmark that might pop out over the trees, and once more force his willpower upon Creed to steer him in the right direction.

Before, in the northwest forest of Loran – as cold and foggy as this day – he spent several days with Tarnac, Rootdan, Aeysla and Eedebee before he could no longer stand the weather and, being stubborn since he could remember, once he set his mind on returning home – and since his youthful guide had taken to babbling incessantly about "never leaving Eedebee’s side for the rest of my life" – Mecnoarv set out, rudiments of direction and sky-reading bedamned. For a merchant whose entire life had been in organized, royal Moncrovia, to whom the natural world he preferred in only one regard – away from him, past the end-blocks of the city – and whose days were filled with cups and spoons instead of handscoops of river water, hourglasses instead of the ever-changing seasons of Terr’Sol (he did not even know the day of the week right now, nor what time of day, really), and balances, measures, merchant taxes and guild meetings with his cousin Hevoran instead of hurting his bottom parts and swiping butterflies on his inth and unth day of horsebacking. "Pollywogs!"

As if in agreement, Creed flicked his tail at his hind flanks; unfortunately, getting caught in the fringe of Mecnoarv’s scarf. "Drat, blast and dragonflies! And speaking of Sprite mounts, fly! Fly, you little demons – just as bad as they are!" A monarch came to rest on Snooteliicore’s nose, took a few steps toward the middle of his eyes and fluttered there. "KUHEPH’MU!" With his last, Dwarven oath, the butterfly left his face to rejoin her sisters in the sycamores. "Much better!" Mecnoarv called into the trees.

Apocania, the City of Merchants to which he was headed, was practically his second home, and he looked forward to seeing once more his daughter, Belinda, and his departed troth Wiiws’ guildleader mother and father, if nothing else for a warm bed and soup and to report to them his failure to exorcise Wiiws’ spirit from her imprisonment as Xorus’ Tenth Wraith. Her possession not only allowed the demon-god to reenter Terra, as Mecnoarv understood from the Bylikaegran wizard Elftime, but completed the First Wraith’s annual sustenance. The First Wraith – at least according to what Elftime had espoused – was a d’row gone to Terr’des that flitted about the land, imbuing spirits of the newly departed with Xorus’ mortal resemblance, a doppelganger-wraith. When there were ten, their full potency enabled them to deliver the Dark God’s spells and spy upon the innocent.

But the First Wraith could only inject its master’s evil for so long before the other nine, Terran spirits wore down to nothing, dissolving into foodstuff – and so the cycle of feeding would begin again, with nine new sacrifices, as Mecnoarv regarded Wiiws and the other poor, unwilling spirits. "Lo, horse, when the day comes that I see my one true love again, then shall she fly to the heavens." Elftime’s solution to save Wiiws from utter consumption – travel to the opaline fog of the northwest forest, throw a coat over what he hoped would be the right wraith – had been quackery, a false hope, and beyond the cold and the wet, Mecnoarv withstood only so much of Eedebee and Rootdan’s courtship, only so much of Tarnac’s blubbering about his lover Flegretha’s arrival, that to be reminded over and over of the failure of his own quest, and the pain of his loss, fed his inurement against another moment on the Bugbear and he had left.

He knew there was only a short time before Wiiws’ spirit disintegrated entirely into the First Wraith, but now he did not know what else to do to actually find her but head for Apocania and regather his plans. Another visit to Bylikaegra’s gold-stealing fakes was out of the question, and the exodus from Moncrovia and massacre at the palace did not bode well for much of anything. But the merchants will have something in their stocks, someone, somewhere, some shelf, he trusted.

Leaving the sycamore grove, they came upon on a vast crack in the ground, narrow and jagged enough that it descended quickly out of sight, unfortunately much too wide for either Mecnoarv or Creed to negotiate, and its faultline ran through the forest with no end in either direction. "Bedamned hack-sack!" he punished Creed. "If I had wings, I would leave you here! If you were not so fat, you could jump this crevice!" Creed had taken to chewing some of the leaves that had fallen upon the woodferns; Mecnoarv pulled his bridle and the two of them began to parallel the crevasse until they found a way over.

**

Val’ha did not realize how much she had missed hearing birdsong, even it meant the murderous cawing of crows from the treetops along Bylikania Pass. Throughout the course of the morning, after they had done away with the passel of Black Dogs at the bridge, she had seen small reminders of Carias – a deer flitting through the woodferns, a chipmunk so stuffed with seeds that it reminded her of a dweemtweezle, a sparrow hopping on one of the weathered, white-rock milestones unique to this pass.

"By the Sword of Gar," said Porcie, "sheer cowardice caused the Bylikaegran secession. If they wished, the wizards of that city could have leveled such force that Prince Joel has never seen in his wretched life! But no, no, no – when comes need for their magic, what do they do? Create another pocket-realm and go hide themselves in it!"

"It is especially galling that they were set upon hallowed ground to begin with," said Quigley. "It might not have stopped the Black Dogs, but it certainly would have been enough to thwart anything Xorus might do."

"I loathe the moment he figures out that we have no cover."

"I should wonder that Joel posted any guards around the hub at all."

"By their quality, I should say it was not much of a loss either way."

"Ha-ha! True, Sir Porcie…true enough."

"The only reason we have not seen more of them since we have been on these highways, I remind you, young knights, is that we are in their tailwind."

"It is not the worst strategy, my lady."

"No, but do not confuse reacting to circumstances with ambitious planning – if I speak of the wind, it is because more often than not, we have been blown about by our enemies…"

"That is not so!" said Sir Tarl-Cabot. "Our actions have come of our own free will, Lady Val Tress…"

"Baroness will do, lord duke."

"Baroness, then…"

"I would argue…"

"…and so well you do…"

"NA-AH-AH-AH!"

"Sh-sh-sh, Vuvu."

"…that the Bylikaegrans have also acted of their own free will. It is their choice to protect their city, their lives. Is it not insipirility itself that inspires the wish to take care of oneself and one’s family and friends?"

"As my Igri once told me, there are dark sides to everything."

"Well, then, if comes to my attention that you are not an insipirile, are you?"

"Do you mock my homeland, lady Baroness? I am as loyal to the philosophies of the Blue Rose as anyone here!"

"It is good that the lineage of kings descends through betrothal and blood, for I do not think you would govern in a meritocracy." The Baroness clapped her hands together while Tarl-Cabot was reduced to grimacing as he tried to unravel her words. "I must agree to your earlier point, Sir Porcie, about the Dark God – there is little in the way of hallowed, holy, magickal or otherwise ground that I can see in the fortnights ahead of us, except perchance Captain Eedebee’s vessel. Who thought that the witchling would have so much to offer in the end?"

"I wonder how Denlineil fares," said Ma’teus.

"If only that the living statues keep the fog at bay," Val’ha said, "I would imagine better than Loran, Moncrovia or North Mibwaze, dear sister or, against my deepest sadness, our birthplace on Mount Carias."

"Let us not forget that the accursed fog makes its way west as well," said the Baroness. "Though it may not enter the water or hallowed places, it can surround them…or as we have seen time and again, once he takes possession of whomever – be it Carla, Cagliostra or Crulee-ana – he is free to walk about wherever he wishes. There is your free will, Sir Tarl-Cabot, and as for before, I am in complete agreement with you. I was jesting."

"Jingle my heart’s bells."

"When you talk of the convent and wishes, it brings to my mind that in less than three weeks, he…" Val’ha shuddered and could not say his name. "It brings to my mind that in less than three weeks, he will need the spirit of another innocent and somewhere, someone will be the new leader of his Axorn’circ. Who shall it be next, that is my wish, to know whom we should bring…"

"Education, or your scimitar?" asked Tarl-Cabot. "Part of me – back there, at the bridge – we did not even attempt negotiation."

"And what good could have come of that, my friend?" laughed Porcie. "As it was, I recognized them and they recognized me."

"You forget sometimes, Sir Porcie, that your name and Sir Quigley’s are not on all of these posters that we have seen tacked onto every tree, barn and mill from Flooher’ty City to M’trossmyph’."

"Pox and bother, Lord Duke," said the Baroness, "do not be insulting, they would be or will – I am known, you are, she is, and our hideous fame has stripped us of far more than any over-cloaks from Joh’oprinia." They had just left the Bylikaegra Forest for whatever magickal protection it may or may not have offered and come to a halt atop a hill, when ahead, through stone-fenced fields of light yellow wheat dotted by dark gnarled oak and faraway homesteads, a faultline ran as far as they could see. Over it was an unattended bridge, and parallel to one of the fences, a stocking-hatted half-Dwarf on a red horse made his way toward Bylikania Pass.

By the time Mecnoarv returned their curious stares, the journeymates had arrived at the bridge to await him. "Oh! Oh! Good day to you – good day to you all, how are you? Joyous land! I am found!" Mecnoarv Snooteliicore told them of his entire journey through Apocania to the northwest forest and back again. When he found out that he had so ill-judged the direction of his return that he had actually passedApocania and crossed into the northern border of Bylikaegra Forest, he was little stunned. "What fortune brings you to me, friends?" And so after learning of his connection to Val’ha and the others through their friends and the doppelganger-wraiths of Xorus – and that they were headed his way – Mecnoarv began his journey with them.

**

Xorus found them on the bridge at Insipirility Pass.

"Tell me that my eyes deceive me," Ma’teus said in a lowered voice. "Tell me there are not twenty of Prince Joel’s Black Dogs."

Mecnoarv and Val’ha ceased their spirited discussions. "We have reached the bridge at Insipirility Pass," Porcie said, "the halfway point to Apocania." Dusk was moving toward twilight as they reached the top of the hill. The Black Dogs had already lit torches and stuck them into Terra on either side of the faultline and its parallel passroad cracking through the oak-flung wheat. Their randy, liquor-bearing laughter barreled across the footplain and their mounts were tied to a nearby tree.

"If we can move beyond them, somehow, to that small forest up ahead, we may seek refuge for the night," whispered the Baroness. "There is one I have known for many years who has a place there." The smudge of wood to which Baroness Val Tress referred was at the distance of the horizon beneath the clouds and trisahn, and the burgeoning dark violet that wrapped the newborn stars made the fields turn whiter.

"Lady Val’ha! The air has gone and the storm arrived!" Baroness Val Tress yelled from her horse. The Black Dog torchbearers had abandoned their lights, and to these the journeymates were headed, a fresh round of thunder pummeling Terra and cracking their ears. "LOOK!" Just shy of the bridge, Val’ha glanced up once more to the dreadful heavens. High windstreams whipped and tore through each other so loudly she could hear it through the thunder. Then, as if from the moon itself, ten, twenty – more than she could count – opaline tornadoes of varying sizes began to funnel downward, drawn from opaline clouds. Some were the size of those that had once tossed Val’ha into the realm of the demon Aentfroghe – these directed themselves toward the companions; others were twisters that settled on the wheatfields, tearing up the terrain on their way toward the bridge.

Pivrax, Ma’teus and Mecnoarv crossed the bridge first and turned in the madly flickering torchlight to await the others as windstorms about them, touching down every second, began to coalesce larger, wilder and more opaline. An oaktree fell victim first, to one of the bigger tornadoes, the sound of its branches being shredded and its roots being wrenched from Terra splitting through the maelstrom’s din. By the time the Baroness crossed over, she and her companions’ heads whipsawed between their friends and the demonic weather.

Dragonslayer so struggled against Val’ha that for the first time she wished she had never taken his saddle and ropings off. Desire brought Porcie across and called to her. With Dragonslayer stroked enough to focus on his course, Val’ha and Quigley guided their mounts onto the bridge, the crevasse more terrifying for the darkness. Directly above and in front of them, a shaft of lightning shot down until it split the boards of the bridge, sending sections clattering into the abyss. Assailed with fright, Poil and Dragonslayer bucked and threw their tails against their masters, Poil so much so that he tossed Quigley like a ragdoll from his back. He leapt past the damaged boards, but those beyond gave way when the horse landed upon them, crashing through and knocking his head as he tumbled through the hole. "NO! POIL!" Quigley grabbed Val’ha’s hand.

"Onto Dragonslayer!" She pulled him up with all her might. To her astonishment – through the white-blue tornadoes, the wild horses, her friends’ cries and the bands of opaline lightning shooting from the moon – rose the corruption Song of Terra, its drone lifting through the fracture so loud and deep that it rocked the very electra of her spirit; it was followed by a tiny circle of opaline light that appeared to come from the crevasse’s lowest depths.

With Quigley on Dragonslayer and the lights whipped from the torches, Val’ha saw one of the smaller whirlwinds descend upon Ma’teus, pluck her from her saddle and carry her into the tornado hive. The others who had crossed the bridge tried to direct their mounts as best they could, Mecnoarv holding one hand up against the onslaught as if to stop it. Tornadoes lunged at them as if parrying a sword, and the struggle of controlling Vuvu and avoiding the emanations grew too difficult for Pivrax; a midsize tornado whisked both Troll and goat away. Val’ha could not even see Porcie and Desire any more.

Lightning slit the sky in banners by now, and Val’ha could no longer hear the hails of the Baroness and Mecnoarv. "Bring the horse around! We must make the leap!" Quigley yelled in her ear. Jolted to her duty, she patted the left side of Dragonslayer’s neck and he made for the end of the bridge to begin his vault, but a tornado spitting thorns of lightning blocked him and he twisted away from it, forcing Quigley to grasp Val’ha’s belt or be thrown off.

From the abyss, the circlet had risen through the crevice to the point that Val’ha could see ten faces; the Song boomed her ears shut, and everything became as through water. Another electric-spitting tornado blocked off their other escape while the spectral faces of ten Xoran doppelgangers shot through the hole in the bridge and curled in as many directions around Val’ha and Quigley, their malevolence suffusing her blood. Dragonslayer had been reduced to stepping in place, muttering fear and doom. Quigley began to wretch behind her, and her own insides revolted against the wickedness in the air.

Then the creatures began deliverance of their master’s bidding: One by one, the drones flew into and through Val’ha and Quigley’s chests, each entry like an impalement upon a poisonous spike, and that day both of them died ten times. The doppelganger-wraiths said nothing: They did not need to, for Val’ha understood with everything in her what had happened, and in only a few days, on the fourth of the coming month, the curse will begin. The wraiths, once each had penetrated her, spun above until the last Xorus was in place. They melted into each other to form a replica of the opaline tornadoes and hovered over the hole.

The twin tornadoes that blocked the bridge spun off into the thicket of destruction; Mecnoarv, who with the Baroness occupied what small space was left unmolested, had seen the wraiths and, whipping Elftime’s robe from his saddlebag, jumped off Creed’s back to pursue the wraith-wind, trying to throw the robe over it. Each time he missed, he scooped up the robe and threw it again until he appeared to be performing a jester-dance with the Xoran cyclone. The Baroness alit her horse to catch Mecnoarv, tackling him as the wraith-wind descended on, consumed and carried her horse down into the abyss.

Val’ha felt the power of Dragonslayer’s back hooves and clasped her hands around his neck when he bucked his body and, as if he had sprouted wings, leapt over the hole and off the bridge. Unfortunately, she had not determined how Quigley was doing, and as soon as they landed, he fell to Terra unconscious, blood coming from his mouth and nose. She stretched him on the ground. The Baroness, pulling Mecnoarv and Creed toward her, yelled into her ear, "There seems to be a point of vulnerability! See the half-moon on both sides of you!" Truly, the windstorm all but avoided the space around Val’ha even as it tossed her journeymates, killed their horses and ripped the land apart.

Flip and Tarl-Cabot jumped over the hole. When he landed Terra shook, Flip stumbled with the quaking and came down on his knees, snapping them; his eyes widened and his mouth opened in a death-wail of pain, and Tarl-Cabot fell off. Three lightning bolts struck along the bridge, sundering it wholly and turning the far side into dust and splinters. With Flip’s backside hanging off what remained of the journeymates’ side of the span, Tarl-Cabot put his hand upon the horse’s mane, kissed his ears and mouthed a short prayer before the wood below them gave way and Flip followed Poil and the Baroness’ horse into the fracture. Tarl-Cabot threw himself toward the other side, grabbing the cliff’s edge just as the final portion of the bridge toppled away. A shaft of lightning zipped through the air before Val’ha and the Baroness could lift him to safety, smiting Tarl-Cabot’s heart. The cloth of his over-cloak burst into smoke, bringing the Women to tear and choke as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up. The Baroness put her cheek to the singed circle, shook her head, then gently pressed her thumbs against his eyes to close them.

Val’ha’s ears popped, the return of the chaos’ roar shocking her senses. "We must take his body with us!" the Baroness said. "Remain close, the storm will part for you!" They draped Quigley and Tarl-Cabot’s bodies over the mount’s backs. Mecnoarv, his face hung in sadness and fear, wept upon Creed. Porcie surprised them all when he and Desire returned through a clearing in the tornadoes, and the Baroness wiped her forehead, jumped on Desire’s back and called into Porcie’s ear to remain near Val’ha, who led valiant Dragonslayer as quickly as she could toward the distant grove.

The lightning had ceased and the Song diminish, but the tornadoes – as the Baroness had predicted, parting to give the companions a ten-foot safety dome – left visibility limited to only the road ahead. When they had gone most of the distance, they found Pivrax and Vuvu, bruised and bloodied from their experience, but well enough to travel. The nearer they reached the forest of which the Baroness spoke, the less tornadoes there were, allowing Val’ha to see, just off Bylikania Pass to her left, a crumpled figure. She grabbed Pivrax’ arm and with a whisper to his goat, he cantered over the low stone fence into the field to bring back broken, limp Ma’teus. They found her mount, Firedancer, at the edge of the hallowed ground of the hermitage of the cleric Ziegler, and when they passed its border, the tornadoes dissipated within a few seconds and they were left alone in the night.

**

"Curses, what…? Coming! I am coming, wait a moment, please do!" Brother Ziegler yelled from inside the moss-covered greystone hermitage, little more than a hut with turrets that lay at the end of the forested entryway, around its front doorstep, mintleaf, arbutus, sweetpeas spiced the air. The door scraped open after the Baroness pounded the greyhound knocker for the fourth time. "God of light and goddess of air, one moment! I – Valerie! Valerie?" The thin-haired cleric, at least seventy, wiped his hair from his face and quickly knotted the rope around his waist, threw the door open and slipped himself under Ma’teus’ shoulder to help Val’ha drag her sister’s body into his hut and lay her on the deerskin rug in front of his lit hearth.

Right behind them, Porcie and the Baroness carried Quigley, with Mecnoarv doing his best to assist. Last came Pivrax, holding Tarl-Cabot’s body carefully in his arms. Ziegler flew about, gathering fresh water, cloths, mortar-bowl and philters of sweet, minty powders that he mixed, ground and spread on Quigley and Ma’teus’ wounds as the others pulled back their fallen friends’ clothing and mopped their faces. Noone spoke until Quigley and Ma’teus’ most immediate wounds were attending to and they lay still but for their shallow breaths. When he finished applying his medicines, Ziegler placed his fingers against Tarl-Cabot’s neck and his ear to the nobleman’s chest before shaking his head. "There is nothing."

"Wait!" Mecnoarv poked his finger in the air and raced from the room. He returned with Elftime’s robe and spread it over Tarl-Cabot. "He who sold this to me said it would work to restore life, but I expect that this, too, was fakery, but still…"

Suddenly Val’ha heard the sound of a tornado being drawn through a spiderhole: Tarl-Cabot’s body jolted and rolled; Elftime’s robe became a fireglow, deep orange and dark red, encasing Tarl-Cabot for a minute before it sifted into oblivion and he lay, squirming and rocking his head, his fingers twitching. Val’ha knelt beside him and took his hands in hers; relief thrilling her senses. "His blood yet runs! He is alive!"

Mecnoarv stepped over Quigley’s stirring frame to hug Tarl-Cabot’s feet. Ma’teus was glowing from head to boot in green-light and did so throughout the night, long after Tarl-Cabot, shaky and barely able to stand from his resurrection, and Quigley were given spicy medicinal broth. Ziegler brought in bedding for the companions to sleep on the floor, and Val’ha, torn, twisted and threatened with dread, fell to her sleep, her tears spilling down Heinghold’s mirror.

**

Val’ha awoke, sat up on the redstone and looked around. Other than a ruby glow, there was nothing. The redstone seemed to float in the red void, and she wondered where she was until the figure of Aeysla sputtered into view. "What is this? Lady Val’ha? Val’ha?! Val’ha!"

"Lady Aeysla! How we have missed you, dear friend? How are you?"

"We are fine here. Oh! Oh! What wondrous enchantment! How have you found me?" Val’ha explained Heemstress’ revelations about the effect of Heinghold’s mirror on her own communion-jou. "Magnificent! It has brought you here, to my dream-realm."

"Has Flegretha arrived at Loran yet?"

"No, she is overdue, but we keep our vigil." Aeysla laughed. "Master Tarnac will not have it any other way, so we have been seduced by him into waiting for Flegretha another week."

"Please do so – I can affirm she is on her way to you, along with Lord Andy and Lady Farron, his troth."

"Lord! He has pledged the banns!"

"How is Eedebee faring?"

"Very well, in fact – she has fallen in love."

"I am aware from Mecnoarv Snooteliicore, who now journeys with us to Apocania."

"Does he?" Aeysla hooted with laughter and embraced Val’ha once more after she was told of the halfling’s misadventures. "Falling asleep on horseback? I will indeed try that with Summer!"

"I travel also with Sir Porcie, Sir Tarl-Cabot, Baroness Val Tress and others I do not think you have yet met – we are coming to Loran within several weeks, and I need you to ensure that the Bugbear and the Dwarfkeep remain hidden there until our arrival, for we intend upon the Reiglo Islands." With that, Val’ha told Aeysla everything that had occurred since the last time they saw each other on the Moncrovian docks and in turn was told of what had happened to Aeysla and Eedebee.

"It will not be very difficult to hide Captain Eedebee’s vessel," the wizard concluded, giving Val’ha the details of their location. "We will figure out, when the Dwarfkeep finds us, what to do for its safekeeping, but again, there is such seclusion here that it may not matter. We shall certainly remain here for you and the others – may the gods travel with you and augment your fight for Trisahn’s freedom. Until we speak again…" Aeysla sputtered from view and the red world with her.