“What sort of trickery is this?” Daryan asked suspiciously.
     “No trick,” The Elder replied.  “Boy!  Go to the baggage cart and get my sack.”  A young boy ran off into the bushes.  “She has fallen into a divination daze.  He tried to get her to back into the correct posture, but he lacked the strength.  “Darijann please help me.”  Daryan moved forward and then stopped, suddenly unsure.  “Daryan, help me get her sitting up.”  The two of them brought her upright.  Just then the boy returned with the Elder’s bag.  He reached into the sack and pulled out various smaller bags, each neatly labelled.  He found the one he wanted and opened it.  “Myvar I need you to eat this godsleaf.”  He opened her mouth and stuffed two dried leaves into it.
     Daryan looked at the bowl and saw nothing but water.  He reached for it, but the Elder grabbed his hand.  “Do not disturb the water, as the water goes so does her soul.”  Daryan freed himself from the Elder’s grip and took a step back.  He did not want to stay, but curiosity compelled him to watch.  The Elder stood behind Myvar and helped her to chew the godsleaf.  Her lips turned purple and dark juice ran from the corners of her mouth.  “Stare at the water, not above or below,” the Elder spoke loudly.  Myvar seemed to recover slightly; she mumbled and opened her eyes.  Once they glimpsed the bowl she again let out a shriek, but this time she did not flinch.  
     Her eyes looked bloodshot and raw.  Finally, she slumped down and, breathing heavily, spoke, “I’m back.”  The Elder picked up the bowl and handed it to her.  She gulped the water down, forcing herself to overcome the putrid taste.  Once finished she collapsed, exhausted, but none the worse for ware.
     “Boy,” Elder called and again the small child returned.  “If you do not come quicker I will name you Basandorr.”
     “I’m sorry master,” the boy squeaked in dismay.
     “Nevermind, get Myvar’s things and bring them here.  She will rest here today.”  The boy darted off again.
     “What does ‘Basandorr’ mean?” Daryan asked.
     “Idiot,” the Elder replied.  “I would never name him thus, but sometimes one must spur the young.”
     “Yes,” Daryan laughed, he had done the same and worse to those who fell under his tutelage.  He walked around looking at everything, trying to discern what if anything happened here.  He heard the bubbling spring and stepped toward it.  He cupped his hands and took a deep draught of water.  It was clear and clean and cold.  He turned back to the old man.  He sat cross legged looking at Myvar.  His clouded eyes half open.  “Do you see at all old man?”
     “No and yes,” The Elder replied.  “I am physically blind, but spiritually my vision is perfect.  To the uneducated it would appear that I can see.”
     Something in his voice caused Daryan to glance up at the Elder.  He could not place the feeling that came up, a feeling of familiarity.  Whether it was the phrase or the words or his posture or his voice, The Elder, sparked some kind of recognition in Daryan.  Despite his better judgment he asked, “Elder, do I know you?”

                                                         *****
     Lordess Jjannal Violana smiled wickedly to herself as her palanquin lumbered through the cobblestone streets of Imperial City.  Every now and again she would draw the yellow silk curtains aside and peer at the serfs peddling their goods.  She turned to her companion, a man of considerable attractiveness, and no honour.  “Tell me Jackel, why do you come to me with this proposition?  Surely, there are other more interested parties.”
     “There are always other more interested parties,” Jackel replied and dazzled Violana with a smile.  His blond hair hung loose about his shoulders and smelled of spices from the Sand Islands.  “But a merchant always keeps his options open.”
     “Now you style yourself a merchant,” Violana laughed playfully.  “Have we had change of faith?”
     “Good God no!” Jackel exclaimed emphatically.  “Faith costs too much money!”  They both broke out in laughter as the palanquin trundled through the crowds.  Jackel turned serious, “If you are interested you will find the payoff immeasurable.”
     “Oh I don’t know, I can measure quite a bit,” she glanced down at Jackel’s cod piece and smiled seductively.  “Besides, I am not certain you took into account all, the players shall we say.”
     “Only one matters at this time,” Jackel replied, his face grown cold.  “Pemlion is a danger to us all.”
     “Some might say you are the danger,” Violana replied.  She opened up a fan and began to cool herself.  The day’s heat climaxed as the sun hit its zenith.  
     “Perhaps Lord Violana might be inclined to agree to my idea,” Jackel watched the Lordess closely.  Violana snapped the fan shut and stared at Jackel, anger reddening the colour of her alabaster cheeks.  “I know,” Jackel whispered.  “The Lord has been dead for some time hasn’t he?”  It really was not a question.
     “What of it?” Violana snapped.
     “Oh, you know how it is.  No heirs and does not your husband have a younger brother?  I know he is away at the moment.  Is he not training with the warrior monks of Lorewythe?  It would take a messenger some time to get to him, but it is not impossible.”  Jackel let the threat hang in the air a moment.  “However, I much rather talk about my plans than family trees.”
     “To my residence!” Violana cried out to her palanquin carriers and her honour guard.  “It appears Jackel that we have much to discuss.”

     The trip took a mere 20 minutes, but by that time the Jackel had explained himself and his plan fully.  Violana regarded him the whole while with a cool detachment.  She did not relish being forced into something by blackmail.  She smiled bitterly as Jackel spoke, thinking she had brought this upon herself.  ‘You play with fire and you’ll be burned sooner or later,’ her father always said.  “You’ve thought this through.  And how will the Angel respond?” Violana asked, when they were alone in her solar.
     “He will thank me,” Jackel replied.
     “Don’t be so certain.  Pemlion may be a son of a b****, but he has proved himself of worth to the Angel, certainly during the late war with the Szo.”  Violana always referred to the Emperor as the Angel.  
     “I was not referring to Pemlion,” Jackel replied.
     “Of course you were, don’t bother to deny it.  Do you think the Angel will grant you title?  Perhaps if you got rid of Gyarasos hewould be pleased.”
     “I do not want Gyarasos’s lands.  His people adore him and would not take kindly to my rule,” Jackel replied.
     “And you think Pemlion’s people will treat you better?”
     “Pemlion is feared, not respected.  That is to my advantage.  But it is not lands I want either.  Too much responsibility,” Jackel smiled again.
     “And just exactly what is it you want?”
     “Respect,” Jackel replied, insincerely.  “I am a low born commoner and I know I could never aspire to a great Lordship.  But I can have my fingers in every deal in the Empire.”
     “Do you seriously believe the High Lords would allow you such control?” Violana asked.
     “You are not the only Lord to have secrets.”  Jackel smiled crookedly.
     “What do you know?” Violana asked, leaning forward with more eagerness than she wished to reveal.
     “Now, now.  I would not be where I am if I had revealed everything I knew.  Did I not tell you I studied the physical sciences? No?  Well, I am an expert at leverage.  With the correct implement I can move the world.”

     “Moving the world would be easier than Pemlion; the world does not fight back,” Violana replied as she sipped her tea.  “If you expect me to help you then you must tell me one thing; why do you hate Pemlion?”
     “Doesn’t everyone?” Jackel replied with a chuckle.  Violana did not change her expression.  “He has something of mine and I want it back, but I fear he will not return it to me.  A broken man will do as he is bid.  A begging man would plead.  A bold man would slay his enemy.  I am none of these.  I am liar, a murderer, a blackmailer, and above all else, I am merciless and prone to revenge.”
     “You shan’t be taking the vows of priesthood anytime soon I take it,” Violana replied, full well knowing the Jackel’s reputation.  ‘I will find your secrets Jackel,’ Violana vowed to herself.  “I believe our meeting is at an end.  I trust you will inform me of when I can make my modest contribution to your scheme.”
     “Of course,” Jackel bowed elegantly.  “Until then.”
     Jjannal Violana watched him go and leaned back in her chair.   Ever since her husband, the late Lord Garan Violana, died Jjannal lived in fear.  Fear that someone would find he was dead and not ill as she had been advising.  Without an heir the Lordship would automatically pass to Garan’s younger brother Xorgan.  If Jjannal believed she could get Xorgan to marry her he would have been told long ago.  The problem was Xorgan was pious where Jjannal was not.  Xorgan was a friendly enough man, but not where religion was concerned.
     Jjannal knew she would have to use leverage of her own.  “You’re not the only one with persuasive skills,” she commented to herself.  She finished her tea and moved to her bed chambers.  It was a large room on the top floor, above the stench of Imperial City’s open sewer system.  A cool breeze billowed her curtains as she sat at her desk.  She smiled, “If you can use me to your ends Jackel, it only seems fair I should be able to use you toward mine.”  She began to write, paused a moment, and then continued with renewed vigor.

     Jjannal rang her servant summoning bell and soon her steward arrived.  “Kelgo send this letter to Lord Aonn.  Make sure you deliver it directly to him or his personal steward.  On your return have the cooks roast a boar for our dinner guest.”
     “As you wish my lady,” Kelgo bowed.  “Would my Lady like the fine spirits for the meal?”
     “Yes,” Jjannal smiled.  “The best we have in stock and if those do not suffice send someone to the merchant quarter.  Kelgo, is the Lord’s wife in town?”
     “No.  At present she is at home in Blackmare Keep giving birth to their sixth child I believe,” Kelgo replied.  The Aonn family were accomplished horse breeders and tended to name places of great import within their territory after their equine friends.  Aonn family lands were home to the Shimmerings; a fine blue-black coloured horse of considerable stamina, whose coat seemed to shimmer blue in the sunlight.  Many of the Empire’s knights owned such steeds.  “Will there be anything else?” Jjannal shook her head and again Kelgo bowed then left the room.
     She walked to her wardrobe and opened it.  Jjannal knew she was playing a dangerous game, but she had little choice.  Jackel had so much as threatened her way of life.  He was not a man to be trusted.  She bit her lower lip and smiled.  Her thoughts drifted to imaginings of Jackel in bed.  She shook her head and proceeded to select a gown for the evening.  It had to be something stunning and beautiful and revealing.  She passed her fingers along rows of gowns of all colours and stopped upon a deep blue silk.  She drew it out and looked at it.  The neck line drooped shockingly low, but that would serve her purpose.  She called her hand maids and together she dressed.  By the time they were finished she could smell the roasting boar.
     Down in her dining hall Kelgo had the table arranged and ready.  Jjannal strode toward the spirit table and smiled at Kelgo’s selection.  There were appetizers of various styles and qualities.  The richest and most expensive spices pervaded the room as other dishes began to arrive.  The hall looked fit to host the Emperor.  A bell sounded and Kelgo disappeared to the front entrance.  Jjannal sat comfortably and fingered a platinum chalice.  Soon, Kelgo arrived with Lord Eriil Aonn in tow.
     “My Lord Aonn,” Jjannal smiled brightly and rose to kiss her guest on each cheek.  “How good of you to come at such short notice.”
     “Lordess Violana,” Aonn replied with slight unease.
     “Please have some peppered eel and lemon pig tails,” Jjannal said, ignoring his manner.  “I hear your wife is giving birth to your sixth child.  Is this true?”
     “Aye,” Aonn answered, and stuffed a peppered eel into his mouth.  His eyebrows rose as the flavour hit his mouth.  “These are quite good.”  He helped himself to another and began to relax slightly
     “My, six children.  It must be difficult to raise such a clan,” Jjannal said as she picked up a lemon pig tail and ate it.  “Must be expensive.”  Aonn paused eating and looked at her.  “I know you have had trouble paying the Emperor’s levies again,” Jjannal gambled.  “I know how to alleviate your financial woes.”  She motioned for him to sit down and took a chair herself.  The roast boar was carried in and set off to the side.  Kelgo sliced it and served a sumptuous portion to Aonn.  “I have a proposition for you.”

                                  *****
     Jackel laughed silently to himself as he watched Lord Aonn enter Lordess Violana’s small palace.  He knew she would be up to something and waiting the whole day in shadows had proved his point.  Jackel had an uncanny ability to read people.  His gift enabled him to achieve a certain level of fame in the underworld.  Others, of course, would tend to regard his fame as built upon guile and treachery.  That too, suited Jackel just fine.  There was something to be said for the feared black-marketeer.  Though, there were times he was so certain of knowing what the other person thought that he wondered if there were more to it than merely being able to read body language and facial expressions.  He had never explored this possibility, but sometimes he felt he had a deeper gift.
     All these thoughts were left behind as he strode confidently through Imperial City.  An up and coming black-marketeer was looking to move into some of Jackel’s territory.  A quick visit to his bribed friends in the city guard will do wonders for his competitors.  He stopped a moment, suddenly feeling he was being watched.  He glanced around the street and saw no one, but the feeling intensified.  He decided to make for the trade quarter.  Perhaps he might lose whoever was following.  
     The hustle and bustle of the trade quarter never seemed to die.  Even in the middle of the night there were deals and purchases.  Jackel ducked quickly behind a caravan of horses carrying exotic Ojand Fabrics from the far south.  He ran through a series of stalls and progressed to his favourite vantage point over looking the hub of the milling masses.  He watched for anyone rushing through the crowd.  No one appeared out of the ordinary.  Suddenly, Jackel regretted not bringing a bigger weapon than his dagger, affectionately named ‘Stealth.’
     He strode quickly away from the trade quarter directly for what he called his slum.  Jackel passed into the slum area, nodding to a guard hidden in the shadows.  Here he was king.  If anyone dared follow him here they would be in for trouble.  He rounded a corner and climbed some stairs.  He opened the door to a hidden warning tower.  In case his bribes ever failed Jackel wanted to know the instant the city guard entered his domain.  He watched the entrance and waited patiently.  After a few moments a feeling of entrapment came up from his chest and the door opened behind him.  He spun around, drawing his dagger ready for combat.

     There in front of him stood a boy, no more than 13 years old by the look.  Jackel almost laughed, but saw the shortsword the boy readied in front of him.  "You've made a very big mistake, boy.  Lucky for you it will only cost you one thing.  Unlucky though because it is your life."  Jackel lunged forward, attempting to catch the boy off guard.  The boy merely deflected his attack and nimbly sidestepped him.  They circled around a few moments, the boy keeping a careful distance away.  "Solminak!  Kurg!"  Jackel yelled, calling for his guards.
     "They cannot help you, for they are dead," the boy spoke softly.  "You must come with me."
     "I must come with you?" Jackel laughed deeply and purely.  It had been some time since he last had a fulfilling laugh.  He wiped the tears away from his eyes.  "Boy run home to your Momma."
     "Jakaanar," the boy whispered ever so slightly.
     "What did you just say!" Jackel's mirth suddenly vanished.  "What the hell did you say!"  Jackel took a menacing step forward.
     "Jakaanar," the boy repeated.  "That is what they have been calling you?"
     "Who's they?"
     "They of your sleep."
     "If you don't explain I will gut you like a pig.  Who are you?"
     "My name is Vicandorann.  And They have sent me."
     "Who goddamnit!"
     "They, the Elders.  Jakaanar you must come with me."
     "I don't think so," Jackel smiled, but no happiness came with it.
     "One way or another you will come with me," Vicandorann look changed.  He became all at once, wild and yet controlled at the same time.  "Awake or asleep you will come with me."

     "The hell I will," Jackel spat.  "The last person to try and order me about... was my father... and I killed him... for.. it."  Jackel staggered almost losing his balance.  His vision blurred and he tried to blink it clear.   "You little bastard," Jackel raised his left fist in defiance.  He noticed a slight line of red.  The cut was so minor he did not feel it.  Then he wondered whose hand he was looking at and promptly he collapsed onto the floor; unconscious before he struck.
     Snippets and flickers of consciousness interupted Jackel's dreams.  Sounds of birds or the babble of flowing creeks entered into his slumber visions.  When finally he woke he could not tell where he was, how long he had been a sleep, nor even what time of day it was.  As his eyes focused he found himself in a small covered carriage.  There was no movement, everything was still.  Outside he could hear the crackle of a fire.  
     He reached around, searching for his dagger, but all he could find was a skin of water.  He drank deeply, emptying the container and threw it aside.  There was a loaf of bread, a small chunk of cheese and some well smoked meat.  Each of these he ate quickly.  After a few deep breaths he exited the carriage.  The shafts of early morning sun cut through dense folliage and campfire smoke.  Jackel became aware of eyes watching him.  He glanced around and found the boy with a bundle of wood, which was promptly dropped.  The boy reached for the hilt of his short sword.  "My, what wonderful service I have."
     "Must you be drugged again?" Vicandorann asked with little emotion.
     "Where are we?" Jackel asked as he stook a wobbly step onto the ground.  He stretched and yawned.
     "Not where we should be," was all Vicandorann replied.
     "And where is that pray tell?"

     "With the Elders," Vicandorann replied, slowly picking up the wood again.  He watched Jackel all the while.
     "Well," Jackel chuckled as he breathed in deeply.  "The air certianly smells nicer here than in Imperical City.  I guess a lack of open sewers will do that."  He strode over to the fire, picked up a stick and began poking the embers.  "So Vicandorann is it?  What kind of name is that?"  The boy said nothing.  "I see, not so much the conversationalist."  Jackel looked about him.  They were on a seldom used trail just wide enough for the wagon.  Jackel frowned, "Where are the horses?"  Again the boy said nothing.  "Don't tell me you pulled the wagon all the way here?  For the sake of the Gods, speak boy!"
     "The horse is drinking," Vicandorann replied.  "We will be moving once the sun has set."
     "Right.  To these Elders.  And what will happen when we meet them?  Am I to be a sacrifice to your mighty diety of the squirrels?"
     "The Elders will advise you as to why you are being brought to them.  It is not for me to say," Vicandorann replied.  He dropped the wood and began to build up the fire.  Always he watched Jackel for the slightest hint of attack.  He placed a pot upon the fire and poured water into it from a skin.
     "Why are you boiling the water?" Jackel asked.  He decided the boy was too careful by half to allow himself to be ambushed.  Jackel layed back onto the ground and rested his head on one hand.
     "You people would drink water filled with the piss of your animals.  Boiled water will not make one sick to drink it," the boy replied.
     "I tend not to drink water at all.  Wine is much better for you.  Ah what I would do for a lovely white wine.  You know I..." The boy raised a hand and signaled Jackel to silence.
     Vicandorann cocked his head to hear better.  A moment passed.  "We are discovered.  We must continue on foot.  Gather the basics and we go."
     "Do you expect me to walk?" Jackel bit.  "Me?  I think..."  The whoosh of an arrow stopped his tirade.  He jumped up and dodged other arrows landing around him.  He grabbed a blanket and tore off after Vicandorann.  "Who are they?"  Jackel asked, finding it awfully hard to keep pace with the wiley boy.
     "They are NOT the Elders," Vicandorann replied and increased his speed.

     “So I gather,” Jackel snapped, breathing heavily from exertion.  They plunged deeper into the woods and further away from sounds of pursuit.  Vines and leaves cut into their flesh as they raced through the dense foliage.  Vicandorann kept up the pace.  Jackel lost sight of him and stopped to catch his breath.  “Bastard’ll be the death of me,” Jackel gasped to himself.  He could hear their pursuers shouting to each other.  
     “Come, we are almost safe,” Vicandorann appeared silently in front of Jackel, and then disappeared again.
     “How the hell do you do that?” Jackel barked as he followed the boy.  Jackel looked down at his fine clothing; it hung off his body in tatters.  “I expect a fine change of clothes.”
     “You lowlanders are always expecting,” Vicandorann replied.  He stopped and pointed to a small ravine.  “We follow this for a league and there we can get supplies.”
     “A league eh.  Wonderful,” Jackel hissed.  He had no choice but to follow the boy now.  He did not know where they were and did not know who chased them.  ‘A fine mess,’ Jackel thought to himself.  They stepped down into the ravine, the sides of which alternated between steep rocky sections and sections dominated by small shrubs.  As they approached the bottom the sun in the morning sky disappeared behind the ravine wall.  At least at the bottom it was darker and cooler.  Vicandorann continued, never once looking behind them, while Jackel constantly glanced back expecting to see a horde of archers taking aim.
     “They have lost us,” the boy blurted.
     “I wonder if we have lost us as well,” Jackel replied, mostly to himself.  It struck him as odd that he could not read Vicandorann better.  It troubled him to know there was someone out in the world, over which he had no edge whatsoever.  “Tell me Vicandorann, how is it a boy of your age becomes a hero?”
     “I am no hero,” Vicandorann replied, “Just a will defender of my people.”
     “Modesty; such a wasted virtue.  Done wrong it smacks of smugness, done right it sounds pious.  Either way people want to hit you,” Jackel went on, trying to find sore points on the boy.
     “Yes you lowlanders do nothing for religion until you require something from it.  We understand you better than you think.”
     “Which is why you won the war; you knew us so well,” Jackel laughed.
     “We did not lose the war,” Vicandorann whirled on Jackel.  “We merely realized a greater truth.”
     “That you would all die?” Jackel quipped, still smiling.  “That your dirt scratching and scavenging ways and your Old One could do nothing to protect you from a more cunning foe?”
     “We realized the time has come to…” Vicandorann stopped abruptly.  His eyes frowned as he looked at Jackel.
     “The time has come to… what?” Jackel asked smugly.  He smiled openly, knowing there was a pressure point nearby for the boy and then in time he would find it and use it.  “Is this the way?”  He pointed in the direction they were heading and strode off whistling.

                               *                                 *                                *

    Whistling a little ditty he had heard the previous night at a remote inn, Yorbel Mursh led his mule along the lightly worn trail heading through the eastern woods.  He was several leagues from the Imperial City and going farther.  In his cart was a shipment of pommet fruit from the Gyarasos orchards bound for the border city Hillcrag, which sat on the edge of the great desert.  It was a week's travel, but he knew he could fetch a good price there and repay the loan his family needed to cover this year's taxes.
    His mind wandered as he and his mule clomped along, the only sound was their footsteps and his whistling.  The tune was fairly catchy, some little melody about a prince who dances for his title....  strange story that didn't make much sense to Yorbel.  But the tune was still catchy.
    He was looking forward to resting his feet at the next inn, whenever he reached it.  They had been travelling all day and the sun was setting, which made the woods all the more dark.  He could only imagine what animals might be hiding in the trees.
    With a lurch Yorbel came to a stop.  The mule mindlessly walked into his back before it stopped as well.  Where were all the animals?  He suddenly realised he heard no birds, and hadn't heard any for the past couple hours.
    "Hello?" he shouted to nobody.
    Nobody responded.
    Yorbel felt a great unease in his belly and looked back the way he had come.  It was too far to go back.  He scanned where he was headed and saw nothing in the gathering darkness.
    "Well Jamiah, what do you think?" he asked the mule.  A muted bray was his only answer.  "Ya, I don't like it either."
    It came to him that he had not met any travellers headed towards the Imperial City today.  He would have thought at least one person would pass by him.  Yorbel's unease grew.
    "Blast me for a fool," he growled and began the relentless march towards Hillcrag once again.  He had no choice.  The shipment had to be made so he could collect the coin.  His family was depending on him.
    When the mule would not budge, Yorbel cursed the beast and tried to get it moving.  It brayed in protest, and its eyes started to roll.  "What has gotten into you, Jamiah!?" said Yorbel.  Suddenly Jamiah was covered in blood.  The instant appearance of the red liquid confounded Yorbel.  "Where did that come fr-" he began before collapsing.
    Jamiah the mule jumped and bolted in the opposite direction as best it could towing a cart of pommet fruit.  Yorbel almost laughed at the sight, if he only felt the strength to do so.  As blackness began to creep across his vision, the last thing Yorbel saw was several large sillouhettes stalk past where he laid.  He tried to squint, but he was facing towards the sunset.  The sillouhettes were too large to be human.  All he could make out was one of the things turned its monstrous head to look at him.  It smiled with too many teeth.  Yorbel thought maybe the monster was laughing at Jamiah's escape and wheezed out a chuckle before he expired.

                                *                                        *                                      *

    "It's coming," repeated Myvar.  She sat with a handful of Elders, including the blind Elder that had been with her during the scrying.  Nobody seemed to mind that Daryan was present as well.  He did nothing to attract attention and merely observed quietly.
    "Now that you've rested some, are you able to describe to us what you saw," asked a very tall, thin Elder.
    Myvar nodded.  "I was looking through the eyes of a simple man....  a peasant.  He was leading some kind of Donkey eastward, away from the evening sun.  I felt a presence."
    "The Beast," acknowledged another of the Elders.
    "Yes, the same Beast I felt once before... but this time it was different.  I think the peasant felt it too, but it was too late.  They were upon him."
    Half the elder's jumped up.  "They!?"  The thin Elder held his hands to implore Myvar, "Dear child, don't tell us there was more than one!"
    She looked down at the ground and quietly replied, "There were several."  All the Elders swayed and cried out in dismay.  How could there be more than one Beast?  How could they possibly survive?  As they moaned the blind Elder held out his hand for them to cease.
    He asked one question: "How many?"
    Myvar struggled to remember.  The strain of being in the body of a dying man was too much for her.  Perhaps if she had been training this talent for years, but since it hadn't yet been a year she was still too new at it.  "I....   I can't tell.  At least three.  Maybe more."
    The blind Elder calmly nodded.  "It was foolish of us to assume there would be only one.  The one you recognised was among them?"
    Nodding, Myvar responded slowly, "It....    recognised me."
    The words hung in the air for long moments.  The Elders were to stunned to speak.  Scrying was a rare gift, but they understood it was always transparent to the vessel and those around it.  "How do you know?" asked an Elder with an exceptionally long beard.
    "It looked at me, and smiled," she said.  A shiver ran through her at the thought.  "It saw me.  I'm sure of it."
    Daryan could stand the suspense no longer.  "What is this beast you all are talking about?"
    The blind Elder turned and looked through Daryan.  "The coming storm.  The death dealer.  We thought, from the ancient texts and one of Myvar's first visions, that it was just one.  Now we know there are many.  I hope you've made peace with your brethern in the Imperial City, Daryan, for they will all perish."

     “Yes, the wretched must fall,” Daryan quoted an Old One Proverb.  “Just where are these death dealers coming from?” he asked, still not believing the spectacle before him.  
     “From the east.  Nothing more specific is written as to their exact origin,” replied the blind Elder.  “They are old and powerful.”
     “Demons no doubt,” Daryan snorted.  
     “We have stories we tell the young about these creatures.  Fanciful tales of the heroes of old striking down wild creatures of great strength.  Alas, those are but stories and reality must surely take a different form,” the tall elder said.
     “We have been searching for the…” the blind elder stopped suddenly in mid-sentence and lurched awkwardly into a rigid standing position.  His cloudy white eyes turned pitch black.  He shivered violently and then stopped as quickly as he started.  Slowly his black eyes gazed about him at those gathered there.  His mouth erupted into a vicious grimace.  
     “Haja!  Haja norgakla!” a deep gurgling voice came from his smiling, unmoving mouth.  “Ha ha ha ha ha!”  His eyes turned cloudy white again and the blind Elder collapsed unconscious.  Myvar and the other Elders ran to him, terror on their faces.
     “Get the godsleaf,” the Elder with the long beard roared to an aid.  Within moments the blind Elder’s lips had turned purple from the leaf.  After a few minutes he came to and shivered.  “They are so strong,” the Elder’s voice no louder than a whisper.  “So much hatred in them… so much evil”
     “Daryan please pick him up we must take him to his home,” Myvar implored Daryan.
     “Fine,” Daryan replied curtly.  His feet were sore from the forced march up into the mountains.  He picked up the blind Elder, surprised at how light the old man weighed.  He followed Myvar around the stone buildings down a well trodden path.  The winds blew through his leather tunic and britches.  He was more accustomed to the warm climes in the lowlands, but he dared not show any weakness here.  He looked down at the Elder’s face and saw him looking back up at him.
     “Darijann.  Justice without honour is no different than evil without remorse.  Honour tempers justice with humanity,” the blind Elder whispered.
     “I have it!” Daryan replied.  “You came through Pemlion lands 30 years ago.  Yes, I remember you now.”  Daryan thought back those many years when a monk had visited the Pemlion Keep.  The soldiers mocked his ways and his wisdom, but Daryan always remembered the monks words about justice and honour.  "You... you were checking up on me?" Daryan asked tentatively.  The blind Elder smiled and fell asleep.

     “Here,” Myvar called and Daryan brought the blind Elder into a small stone building.  A fire had burnt down to embers and the soft glow revealed little of the interior, but it was nothing unexpected for a wise man’s home.  The furnishings were spartan, except for an elaborate shelf with many books and parchments.  “Set him here,” Myvar pointed to a cot with a straw mattress.
     “Will he live?” Daryan asked as he gently placed the elderly man upon the cot.
     “I believe so,” Myvar replied after she had placed a large woollen blanket on the blind Elder.  “Though for a man his age a dominating scrying may take a lot out of him.”
     “What happened?” Daryan asked.
     “He was dominated by…” she turned away, unwilling to let Daryan see her tears.  “By the beast.”
     “The beast again eh?  You lot sure keep a bluff alive,” Daryan joked.
     “This is no joke!  Haga norgakla means ‘death to all,” Myvar snapped, spinning around to face Daryan.  Her face showed a myriad of emotions, fear, worry, and the, almost ever present, anger.  “You foolish boar!” Myvar cursed.  “You have your eyes, but you refuse to see.  We are foolish to believe you could…”  Her voice trailed off and she stormed off.
     Daryan looked at her as she left and felt a pang of regret.  He did not need to goad her like that.  He sat down on the bench, and slowly, took the blind Elder’s hand.  How long he sat there he could not tell, but soon the embers were dead and the room pitch black.  
     “You still fight the truth,” the blind Elder spoke softly.  
     Daryan knew the man was staring at him.  He looked toward the old man’s voice, but saw nothing but blackness.  “I suppose.”
     “Ever cautious,” the blind Elder chuckled.  “I know you feel torn between your life in the lowlands and your heritage.  You must understand for us, there is no denying your blood.  A forest may be made up of many trees, and you may take a seed away and plant it somewhere else, but it will still be of the forest.”
     “I am a wayward seed then?” Daryan asked, though not cruelly.
     “A figure of speech,” the blind Elder replied.
     “No, it is not,” Daryan retorted, suddenly understanding something.  “How many of your seeds have been planted within the Empire?”
     “A great many in a great many lands,” the blind Elder answered.  “Your Emperor has the wrong view of things.  He sees the Old One Worshipers as a threat to his sovereignty.  This is wrong, if anything, we are defenders of his sovereignty.  His, and great many other empires, kingdoms, cities.  We have been preparing for this day for many, many years.”

  "Now, please, I need rest," said the blind Elder as he waved feebly towards the door.  "I will be fine."
  Daryan eased toward the door since he could not see in the blackness of the room.  With arms outstretched he finally reached the entrance and opened it.  Dull evening light splashed into the room and Daryan turned to regard the old man.  The Elder had curled up and faced the wall, shaking slightly either from cold or memory of his being possessed.  The attachment Daryan felt towards him was unnerving.  Shaking his head, Daryan exited the humble home.
  How did he know the old man?  The thought plagued Daryan as he wandered the area.  It was less than a village he walked through.  There were a few stone houses scattered here and there without much apparent regard for location.  He was usually far more observant of his surroundings, but this little adventure had kept him off balance.
  Daryan found himself back by the spring.  The water glinted from the light of the first evening stars.  Looking for answers, he hunkered down next to the pool and looked at his own reflection.  "You are not a seed," he admonished his wavy image.  "You've lived in the city your whole life, and probably saw this old man during your time as border guard."  The rippling water almost made his reflection appear to nod agreement.  "You need to leave this god forsaken place and get back to where you belong," he advised the image.  Realising this was probably his best chance to escape, he stood and began to take his bearings.  Once he determined east, he set off in that direction.
  "As I suspected," growled a voice in the darkness.
  Daryan stopped and instinctively dropped to a defensive stance.  "Myvar?"
  Myvar, who had been sitting on the lowest branch of a nearby tree, gracefully slid to stand on the ground.  "Here I was, mulling over my thoughts that maybe I had judged you too quickly.  And yet, what should I see?  You have no loyalty to your blood."
  In spite of himself, Daryan smiled.  It was a dangerous smile.  "My blood?  You should talk, young one.  Your father would hardly approve of the company you keep."
  "My father," Myvar argued, "chose his path.  He does not choose mine!"
  Daryan resumed walking and added, "Then follow your own example and do not tell me what to do little girl."
  Far faster than he could have anticipated, Daryan was tackled by a furious Myvar.  "Would you be tackled by a little girl?" she grunted.  Daryan kicked her away with practiced skill.  She rolled sideways and was able to grapple with him.  As she tried to pull him to the ground she berated him, "You MUST stay."
  "I must do nothing, girl," he struggled.  "Now get off me!"  Daryan exerted his full strength to push Myvar off him.  She fell backwards and landed hard on her back and elbows.
  For a moment, the two remained still.  Then Myvar spoke in a quiet voice, "You are the counter to his evil."
  Daryan spread his arms in a questioning motion.  "What?  Is this about your beast?  I have no intention of facing any murderous beasts beyond my own lord back in the city."
  "Not him," she said, shaking her head.  "Jakaanar."
  Daryan stood in place.  Was that name supposed to mean something?  This woman had bought into their legends completely, and seemed to think he was some figure from prophecy.  Counter evil?  Daryan had done enough of his own evil to know he was no counter.  He hesitated before deciding his next action.  "Dear lass, I am not the man you're looking for," he said and reached out his hand to help her up.
  Clasping his offerred hand in her own, Myvar rose to her feet and stood close to Daryan.  "You must be," she whispered.  "I can see it in your eyes."
  "No," he replied.
  "Yes," she nodded, and drew closer, hand still wrapped in his.
  "I--" he stopped and they kissed.  Her lips were soft against his and slightly moist.  The delicate warmth flooded through his body and he wanted more.  Eagerly they continued.  Clothes ended up on the ground and Daryan could not recollect how they had ended up in the spring, but he did not question it.  Time seemed to race, and slow simultaneously.  It was intoxicating.
  Hours later Daryan gained his senses thanks to the cold dew forming on his naked body.  Next to him lay the contently sleeping figure of Myvar.  Rushes of pleasant memories from their encounter filled his mind as his eyes traced along her moonlit form.  He rested his head back on the ground, closed his eyes and sighed grudgingly.  Daryan had to leave.  He was sure he was not this counter for evil.  This wasn't his battle.  For all he knew, none of what they had told him was real.  He had to go before they found another way to keep him here.
  Silently he dressed and disappeared into the night.  He knew Myvar would be enraged, but there was nothing he could do about it.  He stopped.  There was one thing he could do.  A little thing.  He crept back and covered her body with his cloak.  For a moment he watched as she instinctively pulled it over her shoulder, and then he turned and left.