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The party left for the plain, setting up outside the festival, just outside of arrow range. Spinel had made sure that they were in a safe area before rejoining the others.

Fernweh had laid his bindle out, and now danced around the blanket that had seemed much smaller on the end of the stick. Inlé sat meditatively in the center of the blanket, and Spinel was certain that even the princess' untrained eye could see the shimmer of raw magic boiling from some secret reserve within their leader.

Spinel could see a channel between the two. Inlé was funneling his magic into Fernweh, virtually casting a spell by proxy. And without seeming to be fatigued by the experience at all. Inlé's robes had become silver again, though he had no wings.

Spinel sat with his six other companions.

"I just can't get over how powerful the boy is," Arrats said. "I've seen three manifestations of his power now, and he's never even broken a sweat doing it."

"Then he is not pushing himself," the soto said.

"That's just it, though," Arrats argued. "I can see how hard he's pushing himself. He collapsed from fatigue right after I first met him. And he apologized for surprising me. He hadn't slept in almost a week because it was less trouble to just keep walking.

"He's so strong-willed that he doesn't even show signs of weakness until he's not only broken, but ground into a fine powder."

"Let us hope," the soto said, "that he does not break until this is over, then. Collapsing would certainly waste us considerable time."

"You almost sound like him," Selice said. "Except at least Inlé doesn't sound like he'd enjoy watching someone collapse."

"True," Qadri said. "He probably wouldn't care either way. I, on the other hand am entertained by people at all times. You are all quiet amusing, after all."

"And you aren't?" Silvermoon asked.

"Of course I am. After all, what would be the point of being if I wasn't amusing?"

Spinel shook his head. This conversation would only cause division, a thing he did not want when they would have to work together soon. He decided to change the subject, and turned to the only topic he was sure would collect everyone's attention, if only for a few moments.

"Sir," he began, addressing the eremite. "You said you now know your name. May we know it as well?"

The bickering women became quiet, and the eremite sighed. "I suppose that this would come up sooner or later. I might as well tell you who I am. Allow me to introduce myself by way of a story."

"Will it be long?" Selice asked. "We don't have all night this time, you know."

Arrats started to scold the princess, but the eremite brushed the comment away. "The short version then." He smiled with gentle affection. "For our own little princess."

I was born the youngest of nine. A nonet, in fact. Similar to a twin. My parents raised us to be a close-knit family, then released us to meet our own fortune. We traveled together for some time, until, one by one, my siblings found lovers and went to build their own families.

I wandered alone for some time, wanting--needing--companionship. This was long, long ago, and there were fewer people who would wander as I did. Occasionally, I would travel for as long as a week alone. I decided to visit between my siblings, traveling from one to the next as I saw a need, and it was in this way that I met my first love.

In those days, there were two kinds of thirianthrope, those born of Moon, and those from the days before the rise of the new gods. She was of the old blood, a she-wolf of exquisite beauty. Sleek, elegant, and wild, she and I came upon one another across a stream as we both came to drink. We ran together, one on either side of the river, for some days before we even once spoke. Finally, she approached me, and we quickly learned to love one another.

My siblings disapproved. Having human lovers themselves, they believed this union of old and new blood was somehow blasphemous. But the gods smiled down on our union, and we soon had a clutch of infants to feed. They were too young to run as my love and I had, and so we settled on the side of a beautiful mountain from whose summit I could see the homes of my kin. And she of hers, though she hated her kin. Never did she explain why.

Our children grew older, but when they were old enough that they could go out on their own, I could not find it in myself to force them to leave. So they stayed with my love and I, and other travelers found their way to our little mountain. And some simply met with us, and some of them joined us, and some of them came to love us. Old blood, human, or beast, each was welcomed, each accepted, each loved.

In time, my lover and I found another to welcome into our circle, and, though she was much younger than either of us, she taught us many things. I was the youngest of my siblings, yet first I was in many respects. First to settle in one place permanently, first to form a stable community, first to bounce grandchildren on my knee as I told them the old tales.

Of course, I was also first to succumb to both the blessings and the curses of my parents...

Fang paused, weary in telling this story. He saw that those who sat with him had begun to come to conclusions. His great-(how many times?)-grandchildren knew, but sat apprehensively silent. The young Archcardinal seemed to understand, as did the knight-boy. Fang was unable to tell what the smiling soto thought, and the princess had not yet caught on. But how will they react when I lay it all to bear? he thought.

He cleared his throat, then said, "By now, some of you suspect my name. Please, allow me to finish this tale before you pass judgement."

At times, a madness came over my siblings and I, and, to a lesser extent, our children. A gift from our mother, who suffered similar fits. She never told her opinion of them, but I argued with my siblings that this was indeed a gift. Insights far beyond what we could normally attain were in that madness, though also a bestiality and wrath that could nearly blind us to the world around us. I found I was close enough to the Dreaming when mad that I could reach out and step into it. A danger my siblings refused to even consider.

Our father had given us the ability to pass a measure of our strength onto those mortals who were not so long-lived as we. I was first to do so, in Biting my second lover. My siblings could not understand the Bite for what it was, and thought it perhaps a danger like the madness. They believed--wrongly--that our father had given us a way to take our lover into ourselves, or perhaps remove our lover through death. Our parents were mad, as we well knew, but still they loved us. I trusted them completely, perhaps only to my own despair.

I had grown accustomed to slipping into my madness when faced with important decisions. I did not understand all of the complexities of the relations between Biter and Bitten, and so was unprepared for the repercussions of slipping into the madness. It was not long after I had Bitten that I made my mistake. I asked my brides--for we had since been introduced to the concept of marriage--to join me, as I had always asked my first lover to do in order to rein me in if I seemed to drink too deeply of the madness. Had I only known.

I slipped into the madness with more difficulty than normal, but then it took full control of me. I watched as the beast within me tore the women I loved to shreds, saw a mist of blood rise around me. Horrified, I watched as I consumed the mothers of my children, flesh, bones, everything. Tears trickled down my muzzle, the only sign that there was even a shred of me left.

My monstrous meal consumed, the beast that had control of me squatted, watching for a way to further destroy all I had loved. Shock had held me in check as I killed, and despair as I feasted. So had I been helpless against this dark side of my being. But werewolf, man, and even wolf can stand only so much weakness before pride takes control and replaces despair with a more useful emotion. Fury.

A red rage consumed me and, as my bestial self forced dark images into my mind's eye, I forced them out. My body convulsed as the battle between myself and this paroxysm of my being warred within the confines of my mind. I tried to purge everything of the evils I had just done from me, and my body steamed as it vomited the contents of my last gristly feast.

There are many things that a person can do to crush a person's spirit. But only a person can utterly destroy himself. Every evil I ever committed, each atrocity I had ever considered, every darkness I had dared not even think of, was now a weapon used against me. Everything I held dear, I saw aflame, tortured, destroyed. Everyone I loved, I saw raped, murdered, consumed.

At times, I could not even tell if those things I saw were true or imagined, and truly, I no longer cared. I was no longer fighting to save those I loved, only to destroy the creature consuming me. The Hunt was on, and I fought to catch and kill the darkness that was all around me. I forced any obstacle out of my way and pressed on.

As I have said, the madness brings us closer to the Dreaming. This means that the things I fought had the substance of Dream as their make-up. But with my madness as a catalyst, they fell into this world as I pushed them aside. This I did not know then, nor would I have cared. I was Hunting myself, and so I needed every ounce of concentration for that.

After an eternity, or perhaps only violent, vicious moments, I cornered my dark form. I moved in to destroy it, but when it turned, I hesitated. My fury subsided as I realized my predicament. How could I destroy this thing that is me? And if I do, will I also die? The hesitation was only momentary, for when I remembered the sight of my lovers' last breaths, the taste of their still warm flesh, I realized that I would not regret dying if I could destroy the monster who had destroyed them.

My double, seeing me hesitate, moved to strike me a killing blow, but when he had struck me, it was not a strong enough attack to kill me. My retaliation, however, fueled by rage and sorrow, was. He fell dead at my feet. I rent his body, forcing it from my mind. Control returned to me, and I found his remnants on the ground before my physical body. I scattered it again, flinging pieces in all directions. Then, in my madness, I slept.

When I woke, I was in the Dreaming, but was no longer mad. I wandered the world as it is in Dream for generations, learning of my children, and their children, and their children's children. Every birth, every success, every love, I was there, giving praise. Every death, every failure, every loss, I was there, giving consolation.

I watched in fascination as my children learned to fear the madness as did the other Packs, despairing at their lack of understanding. But they had not fully forgotten me, for they traveled alone in the madness, accepting it instead of resisting it. When my children were Lost, I was with them and, though I could not save them, I could at least ease their suffering.

None joined me in Dream, though some seemed almost to hear my voice. I feared to become mad again, as I did not know how I would be once in this world again, so I delayed. I asked children as they dreamed what they thought, but none could say. Elders and other adults were too set in their ways even to give such questioning serious consideration in their dreams, and so I was alone. Occasionally, the beasts from the Fogs of Unrest would wander into the Dreaming, and I would destroy them. But that was poor replacement for companionship.

"Why not forget it all?" a pup once asked as he dreamed. And the idea struck me as worth at least an attempt. I locked my memories away and touched the madness just enough to leave the Dreaming. I fell upon the mountain I had once loved, without a memory in my head.

Wandering the mountain, I found the shack that you found me in, one I had built to tie this world and the Dreaming together long ago. It was through this, perhaps, that the monsters had occasionally passed through, though I did not realize what it was or what the monsters were then. So I lived on that mountain, in that shack, alone but for the occasional monster for some time as I tried to piece together my identity.

I had not realized that a person without a name desires one. A selfless self desires to create some sort of being within itself. I began to wander the mountain, and soon came upon the Pack of the Hidden Moon. They were surprised at my presence, and I at theirs, though they did not know me for myself. I was surprised to find others like myself, but something inside me resisted enduring their stares too much.

I learned from them to communicate once more, and traveled with them to the World Tree but, after a year and a day with them, I could no longer stand their company. I left them to live once more on the Mountain of Dreams. Occasionally, I would visit them, then rarely, then only to attend the World Fair under the Tree. Over time, I slowly began to attend those festivals only rarely. Generations passed, and the Hidden Moon forgot me once more, though never entirely.

I forgot conversation over time, slowly losing words for myself as I was slowly consumed by the stories in the shack I named the Tower of Tales. Though it is not truly a tower, such a name felt good for me to give, for I wished dearly for my own, though I could not find it.

Eventually, a small party appeared and persuaded me to join them in their travel to the World Fair, and their leader gave me my name once more.

Son of Old Wolf and Moon, I am the youngest of the new blood. Father of the Pack of the Hidden Moon, creator of the Fogs of Unrest and its oldest beasts, I am First Biter and First Lost, but I am the only Master of the Madness, having escaped my own.

I am Fang.

Fang settled coolly as he finished his introduction. He saw shock even on the faces of those who he knew had realized before he had named himself. Only the soto seemed unfazed, like she found it only to be an interesting joke. He looked most tentatively at his own blood, wondering how they would react. And, to his despair, he saw that the first to react was, indeed, the young wolf-man.

Silentstride jumped from his seat and turned toward the village. Fang sat, prepared to see him storm off, followed closely by the wolf-girl. But the next to rise was Silentstride's Bitten, the knight-boy. Spinel.

To Fang's surprise, Spinel grabbed Silentstride and spun him around to face him. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the Pack," Silentstride said coolly. "Where else would I go with such news?"

"You can't," Spinel said. "You said you were traveling with us."

"This news changes everything." The young wolf pulled himself free from his brother's grip. "The Pack must know."

The princess sprung to her feet. "Why, so you can kill him?" she said shrilly. Fang was shocked to see these two children, not even his own blood, defending him.

"Kill him?" Silentstride echoed. Surprise showed clearly on his face. "Why would we kill him? This is a time for celebration!" Fang nearly reeled. "Our forefather returns to us, and we try to kill him? Perhaps some of the other Packs would try such a thing, but no Hidden Moon would shame themselves so."

"And if the other Packs do try to kill Fang?" the princess pressed.

Silentstride's lopsided grin looked almost eager. "Honestly, princess, I would love to see them try. Go on a warpath against the Hidden Moon? I don't know of any Pack foolhardy enough to try. Especially after this last tournament.

"They would charge in, see my brother and myself standing to face them unfettered, and charge out before we had the chance to attack. The only injuries would be from them running over their own in the rush to escape us." He laughed at the image of chaos he'd conjured in his mind.

Fang smiled. "Thank you, grandson."

"You are our grandfather," Silvermoon said. "You almost seem surprised at our loyalty. Were you so afraid to reveal yourself?"

"Yes. Afraid enough to spend a dozen lifetimes in a place where none could find me and a dozen more unable even to find myself." Fang looked sad. "But even more ashamed than afraid. How could I not be, with the evils I have done."

Silentstride knelt before Fang, clasping his hand. "But also so much good, sir. Our people, the Pack of the Hidden Moon, have lived with the wisdom you showed us from the beginning. Yes, you made mistakes. But so have we all. And so will we make more.

"I have no fear of making mistakes, though, grandfather. Only of not having the opportunity to make new ones."

"Yes," agreed Silvermoon as she joined Silentstride on her knees. "We do not make mistakes and fail. Mistakes are proof we at least tried. Effort is what matters."

"And celebration," Silentstride laughed. "We must go immediately to tell our kin."

Silentstride turned to run off again, but Fang held him fast. "No, wait. Wait until this wander is over. I have been dead for some time in their minds. A few more days will not hurt them any. And besides, some of our party are far too impatient to stand the delay this would cause."

The Archcardinal chuckled. "Inlé does have that particularly impatient quality, doesn't he? Not, of course, that he would show it openly. Most people would think him patient, the way he can do something for so long at a stretch. But I'd bet he does it because he's always behind whatever schedule he's set for himself."

"Perhaps," the soto said. "But it may be better not to draw his attention just now, Arrats. Look, he responds to your naming him."

The party saw that Inlé, indeed, had opened his eyes and was watching them. Power continued to flow from him, and he seemed unaffected, but Fang found himself grudgingly agreeing that it would be a danger to distract him overmuch.

"So what did he make you pay him?" the princess asked. "He's so horrible, you know, making you pay for your name."

Fang chuckled. "There are some places, little one, where a name can save your life. There are times where, without a name, you become nothing at all. What he charged me was a pitifully small price to pay."

Fang paused. "But I do not know exactly how to explain what he asked for. He said that, when he reached this last destination, he would deliver his scroll and leave immediately, in a way and to a place we could not follow. But his items also could not accompany him. He asked me to return them to their rightful owners."

"And who would that be?" Arrats asked. "The goddesses?"

"Yes," Fang agreed. "I must find the triskele maidens before I may return to my tower. Though I believe it will not be difficult overmuch. They will likely not want to leave such a garment in this world when its purpose is complete, not to mention the other items. He could well challenge them if half of the power he shows is his own."

The Archcardinal looked uncomfortable. "Sir, that is very close to blasphemy. As their high priest, I must ask you to refrain from saying such things."

"As you ask, Archcardinal," Fang answered. "But remember that I am older than the goddesses of magic. When I was a child, Magic was a god unto himself. That his daughters overthrew him while I was in the Dreaming does not bother me in the least, for the battle was fierce, and they won over him by all rights.

"But remember this one thing, which will not be told in the holy texts you know. Magic himself had the chance to crush his daughters entirely. Not once, but several times during that battle. He could have prevented it before the battle, had he but told the girls that he knew. But he did not.

"Magic loved his daughters. And though they rose to overthrow him, still he stayed his hand when he would have landed a lethal blow. Magic fell because of the weakness of love. He could not harm the things he held so dear to his heart.

"How I envy him that strength."

Fang saw that he had shaken the Archcardinal's faith. It was not said that the goddesses of magic, the triskele maidens, were the daughters of Magic. The holy texts, as Fang well knew, said that they were mortal women who moved to overthrow the harsh god who ruled over them. The holy texts did not lie. They just did not grant total knowledge or explanation. Patricide is different than overthrowing a tyrant, and less agreeable with most religious sensibilities.

He had not meant to shake her as much as he had, but what was done was done.

"I do, however, believe that they were in the right in this overthrow. The girls loved their father nearly as much as he them. I am sure they wish there had been another way than his death."

The soto laughed. "You speak out of both sides of your mouth, old one. Defend blasphemy, then defend orthodoxy." She shook her head. "Which, then do you follow? The orthodox or the blasphemous path? And to whom do you pray? To your parents?"

"I do not pray as you do, soto. I know well when I have my mother's ear. And I stand in my grandfather's realms often, even so far as to enter his courts and commune with him over a meal. Though I must admit that I have done neither since longer ago than any of you has been born."

"Right!" the vacilando called from a short distance. "All aboard as is goin' aboard! File on quick, not long afore this ride rides!"

Quickly, the party collected on the blanket the Vacilando had laid out. They stood pressed together around the seated Inlé as Fernweh continued his dance, singing the last few lines to activate the spell.

With a shout, the wiry man sprung onto the blanket. "Hands an' feet inside th' borders o' th' bindle. Quiet now, we're t' be makin' history, an' I'm f'r wantin' it t' be good news. Th' spell'll activate in a snap, an' we don' want any of ye t' bite yer ..."

And the spell kicked in. To the party, it felt as though the ground below them had fallen away, and they dropped fast. The blanket stretched up around them, closing over them and sealing into a giant bindle. In the darkness, they fell and shook. Many of the party yelled, but none could tell who beside themselves was in panic.

Downward they tumbled, crashing against one another, and when their eyes had adjusted, they could see unspeakable horrors outside of the gaps in their cloth shield. Worse, some of the horrors had spotted them as well.

Fang, of course, recognized the nightmare realms of the Dreaming. But he was disconcerted, because he knew also that the party was not in the Dreaming. Despite the jarring activity of their container, it felt as though the party was still beside the World Tree. And near some other place he did not know. How this was possible, he did not understand, but Fang found himself praying quietly in a way he had not done before.

And then the bindle went still and settled on the ground. The darkness was true and unmolested by fell beasts. The blanket opened above them and returned to its position on the ground. The party went silent in apprehension, only to hear a brief scraping noise.

A small flame leapt into the air for a brief moment, bright enough in the darkness to seem blinding. Fernweh chuckled to himself as he lit his pipe. "Nothin' like a good smoke after a bit o' fun like that, eh?" he asked.

A more subtle light began to glow from Inlé's still seated form. His face was impassive, but it was alone in this. Even the soto had had her perpetual smile wiped from her face.

"Never before," Qadri said, "have I ever been for being alive."

Fernweh chuckled. "An' how sure are ye o' that, girly?"

Inlé spoke before the soto could answer. "You have given these people a fright, old sir. Mocking them afterward is a poor thing to do."

"Aw, don' be like that, Inlé," Fernweh said. "It were just a wee bit o' fun. T' be sure, no one was hurt by it."

Looking around, Selice saw that this was not entirely true. Bumps and bruises were already beginning to show on the party, and little cuts were healing on most of them. Nothing serious, she knew, but even in his fights the day before, Inlé had not been cut. Now he bled from the forehead and his bottom lip. Though she noticed that he seemed not to.

"And what sort of fun was that?" Arrats asked. Fernweh's chuckle ended.

"I ... ah ... I were just havin' ..."

"How much of that was necessary," Arrats said cooly. "And how much extra?"

"Call it two an' one?" Fernweh said meekly.

Spinel laughed. It started as a small snort, then built into a cackle that knocked him to the floor. His being unnerved began to wear on the others until he suddenly stopped and sat still.

"How much extra time did you spend on this prank?" the wild knight asked.

"None, t' be sure," Fernweh said, trying to nonchalantly puff at his pipe. "'t were faster, in truth. Th' prank got ye closer an' effected ye all t' be o' similar thought. Then th' transport could be cast on th' bindle and not each o' ye in turn."

He took a long drag on the pipe, "Bonus, if th' first spell failed, th' other wouldn't activate. Ye'd be shaken, but not stirred or dropped into th' sky or half into a rock or tree. An' since both spells worked, we're here right on time an' safe as pigeons."

"Not entirely," Inlé said.

"What do ye mean?"

"It is a quarter hour past noon, sir. We are late."

"Ye'd charge me so little time f'r a spell so hard?"

"Of course, sir. You said noon. We are late."

"But ..."

"Your punishment is providing the refreshments for today's repast. Surely you have a store here?"

Flustered Fernweh stammered for a moment, and Inlé cut him off.

"Only the best today, sir. Some here have upset stomachs that may not do too well with some of the things you consider meal."

The others laughed as Fernweh turned mopily to the rock wall behind him, but the princess saw a secret grin on his face as he rapped on the wall.

A section of the wall slid out and aside, revealing a thin room beside them. It glowed a pale blue, and seemed to go on forever. Fernweh began whistling lightly, and things began dancing and floating into the gradually lightening room. A fireplace took a place in one corner, as a table danced to the center of the room, followed by waltzing chairs that spread themselves around the table. Candles draped a tablecloth over the table, then set themselves on the table and around the room. Paintings of beautiful scenery and tapestries of heroic figures and battles hung themselves on the walls. In moments, the room was fully furnished and glowed comfortably.

Fernweh sat at the table, and the others, still looking around, joined him. Arrats was surprised and slightly embarrassed to see herself on one of the tapestries, standing over a fallen comrade as she held off an infernal creature. Fernweh chuckled when he saw her looking at it.

"Ye're much prettier in person, girly. An' harsher. Knowin' ye now, I pity th' demon a bit, t' be sure."

Arrats looked like she was about to say something, but then the food came out.

The food was not as extravagant as Selice was used to in Briqueward, but there was a lot available, and it smelled delicious. Trays of fresh fruits and salads came in first, followed by bowls of nuts and berries. Pitchers came out and rested at odd places. Lastly, two platters of steaming fish laid themselves out as a large platter of glazed venison rested itself on the center of the table. There were no elegant cuts or delicate slices, as the princess was accustomed, but there was a rugged beauty despite.

"Are you forgetting something, Fernweh?" Arrats scolded.

Fernweh furrowed his brow in thought, then said, "Ah, bread. Sorry."

"No, something else."

He scowled. "I haven't but berries f'r dessert. Ye c'n make do."

"Silly man, I meant tableware. Dishes. Cups. Forks and knives, perhaps?"

Fernweh laughed. "O' course! Sorry, lass. It's been quite a time since last I laid out a feast." His face dropped. "Aye, goin' on twenty year. An' then it were f'r two only."

There was a moment of silence, then Fernweh laughed. "O course, much o' th' food stayed out uneaten." He waggled his eyebrows before making another quick whistling to summon utensils for serving and eating.

The next morning--for, Inlé's hasty departure had been precluded by the party's decision that Fernweh and he needed a great deal of rest after such an endeavour--they traveled the few miles to the town of Lost Lake.

Lost Lake is a small lake in a valley surrounded by tall mountains on all sides. But simply traveling across the mountain range will not allow one to arrive in the valley. The lush mountain forests hold an enchantment that, among other things, shields the valley from outside activity. There is only one entrance into the valley of Lost Lake, and it wanders the woods like an old tiger; never is it in one place for long, and never the same place twice in a moon.

If a traveler does find the entrance--usually by accident--they likely had not meant to find it and did not even notice its approach. They pass idly between two trees, or over an odd patch of moss, or under a gnarled stone outcropping, and a path opens before them that they had not noticed before. If they even once step from it, the path vanishes like a dream. But follow the path as it winds away and down, and the traveler finds that they have reached the valley below.

It has been said that the first view of the valley is one of the four most breathtaking vistas in the world, and that the gods Earth and Nature created it to inspire those who found it. No matter what direction the traveler believed they had been moving, they enter the valley facing eastward, the sun's path tracing overhead. Before them, in the distance, a pair of verdant peaks stand apart, revealing the sun and the moon as they rise. Directly in the center of the valley, garlanded by flowers in spring and summer, lies the Lake itself, a shimmering cerulean jewel, that revels in its own magnificent splendor. Even when winter has frozen the world around it, the valley stays warm enough for the lake to stay clear and the grasses on its shore to dance in the chill winds that blow in from the mountain.

Beside the entrance is a boulder standing just taller than a man and no larger in girth than a bull. It is a dark stone, glistening in the light shining upon it as it stands eternal vigil over its lush ward. It stands proud, the loving watcher as the tiny dramas in this small world unfold.

Seemingly from within this menhir stepped the group of travelers who had forgone the path for a faster and, perhaps, less difficult route. Fernweh gauged the expressions of his companions as they stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness exactly as he'd planned. He'd let the light be just bright enough within his hideaway to be certain that their eyes would have barely adjusted to the darkness when their breath was stolen from them.

Fernweh had learned a great many things in his long life. Among these, his most cherished abilities were those of a grand showman. He could turn an ear better than most true bards when he had a mind. Given enough rope to hang himself, the old vacilando could lasso the hearts of the hangman, the judge, and the audience. And belt his pants with the spare line. Despite his skills, Fernweh knew that elaborate speech was inept here. Brevity was as much a virtue of the poet as loquaciousness. "Welcome to Lost Lake," the old man said in the darkness. "Welcome home."

As if on cue, the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon. The sunrise, framed by the two mountains, glowed into the valley to herald the new day. As ever before, tears rose unbidden to the old man's eyes, mirroring the sun's own climb. He was glad that his heart had never hardened against this wonderful beauty.

Looking to his companions, Fernweh saw similar tears budding in most of their eyes, and the princess, precious girl, was crying openly at it. Only Inlé's eyes, to the old rambler's dismay, were untouched by tears. No emotion was revealed in the boy's face or demeanor. He saw only another sunrise, like any other, over an equally ordinary landscape. He was good enough to stand patiently as the others basked in the glory of nature for the minutes it took for the sun to rise fully into the sky.

Then they were off, trekking down the worn path to the small town on the edge of the lake. As soon as the sun rose, the town began to wake, and by the time the party had arrived, business was in full swing. People cried greetings to one another along the wide, ambling roads, and hailed the newcomers as they approached as well. Some, recognizing Fernweh, joined the group as they walked, laughing and welcoming his return. They greeted the others as well, appraising the exotic attire and smiling at foreign accents and strange names.

The party responded cordially, to Fernweh's pleasure, even the soto who, when a ball was sent flying into the group, caught it and returned it to the children responsible with a youthful laugh. The vacilando wondered how much of the smile and laugh were genuine, and how much for show. Perhaps, he mused, he had misjudged her.

Only Inlé, leading the party with head cowled once more, was left out of the merriment. Perhaps that his face was hidden and he was silent was enough to dissuade any from approaching him. Perhaps it was his deliberate gait as he strode calmly through the town. Whatever it was, Inlé reached the center of town a few strides ahead of the party unimpeded by the crowd as they made their ways around him.

On reaching the green that was the hub from which the town spread, Inlé approached the tall statue that watched over the town, her back to the lake. The statue was perhaps seven feet tall, and the same blue as the waters behind her. Fernweh remembered when she had been found in the bottom of the lake, quite by accident, by a pair of boys diving from a boat. She had been dragged up and placed in the town center since his last visit, and Fernweh noticed that those who took note of Inlé's doings did not like the way he approached her.

She stood smiling, looking as though she were about to reach down and embrace whatever child walked before her. Inlé approached her until he was a few feet in front of her. The party had stopped on the edge of the green, following Fernweh's example, and they were a part of the hush that fell as they watched Inlé.

Inlé waited for some short time, unmoving as the statue, and it seemed that the whole town stood with bated breath. A heartbeat. Two. All eyes were on Inlé, and his were on the statue. Finally, with deliberation, Inlé said softly, "Sapphire Maiden, I have come to you with a message. Will you receive it?" Fernweh wondered at how easily the boy's voice traveled without any attempt to do so.

The statue was, as every good statue, silent. No response came from her as she stared blindly down at some beauty only she could see. Inlé repeated himself, and again, and again. Five times he echoed his words. Five times the sapphire maiden held silent. Five times the murmuring began in shock that the cowled man would address the maiden so. Fernweh heard a child quietly ask why the statue wasn't answering. The boy was promptly hushed.

She knows, thought Fernweh. She knows why we have come, and she wishes not to have to face this. He mused that he would likely make the same efforts in her place. Inlé aside, the group with him was formidable in many ways, and there were more than had been summoned.

A sixth time, Inlé repeated, "Sapphire Maiden, I have come to you with a message. Will you receive it?" He paused briefly, then said, "You cannot deceive me as you may others. You do not breath, nor does your body twitch, nor do you betray yourself to the natural eye or ear. But you glisten with the energies of life and magic, and you flinch, if only in your eyes, at my voice. I am here only as a messenger, but I take my duty seriously, and am ready to wait for your willingness to receive this scroll for as long as it may take. You may have the patience of the stone and the sea, but I do wait as Time herself. How many years do you wish to test me?"

The statue sighed, and the princess, impatient beside Fernweh, made a slight squeak of surprise in response. Fernweh had thought the girl understood why they had all come. She must have known, but not believed.

"I hear you, Wanderer. I merely wish for you to leave me be. Why is it that you must harass me with your deceits?"

"I harass you only with this scroll, Maiden. There is no deceit in me on this matter. What reason would I have to be deceitful, when I have a message for you from the goddesses of magic?"

"And what message, pray tell, is sent by the supplanters?"

"That, Maiden, I would not know," Inlé answered. "I merely deliver the messages as I received them, neither writing nor reading them. Your business with the goddesses is your own, and I would not become involved of my own desire."

"How cold of you to bring my death to me without a care upon your brow." An angry and shocked murmur rose from the gathered townsfolk. "Why not read the message to me, little friend. My eyes are good enough, perhaps, but I am unskilled at reading. Even if I take the scroll, it would not be properly received until its message has been read. Handing me the scroll will not release you from your duty, will it? Otherwise, you would have left it at my feet and been gone now, would you not?"

Inlé nodded slowly. "True enough, madam. Do you then wish to contract my aid in reciting this message? There will be a fee, of course."

The Maiden made a disgusted noise, and said, "And you are greedy above all else. What then, Wanderer, is your price? You may as well make it steep."

"I have no desire to do so, madam," Inlé answered, unfazed. "My fee is that you commit the message to memory as it is read, that you remember it always. I wish not to be held to repeat myself as you discern the meaning within the message."

"Done," the Sapphire maiden said. "And may the memory of this day shame you for eternity."

"Unlikely, madam. If you would break the seal? And now, I will relay the message.

"Safir, Maiden of Sapphire, handmaiden to the old Lord Magic.

"We, his daughters, goddesses of magic after his death, do demand you return to the courts you have sworn to serve. Though the old Lord is dead, your service is as required now as before. Your obeisance is demanded in the courts of magic, and to defy the goddesses further shall deliver their full wrath upon you.

"Should you return immediately to the courts, your absence will be overlooked, and you shall be returned to your rightful place beside the thrones. However, should you refuse, the party of adventurers here gathered have been granted the authority to force you to return. They have been given permission to use whatever means are necessary to complete this task, and may even kill you should you resist.

"The goddesses plead that you return to your home once more. Though there was a time of grief allowed for one so close to the old god, the new remain in need, and that time of grief is long ended.

"Do not mistake mercy for weakness." Inlé finished reading the message as tonelessly as he had begun. Safir fell to her knees, weeping. The townsfolk watched mutely as tears slid from the statue's face, slowly forming a crystal spire on the ground. No one spoke as she wept, and Fernweh felt a gentle pity for the maiden. It is a strange thing, he thought, to pity a god. Even one dethroned.

Inlé knelt in front of the Maiden, and placed a hand on her shoulder, almost as if consoling her. But what he said was anything but consoling. "You have received your message, and my mission is now complete. The path laid before you branches from this scroll I place at your feet. You know the paths you may choose. You know which you will wander. You alone will decide the fate you choose. May even the gods be damned to change your will."

"Please," the maiden begged, "take this choice from me."

"I cannot."

"Then save me from it."

"I cannot."

"Protect me from those who would oppose me."

"I cannot."

"Whatever fee you desire, Inlé, I will give you. A thousand maiden's tears, perfect in every way. Rare, beautiful, and powerful magic. One alone could make you a king."

"I cannot take this request, maiden. My time in this world is spent. I must return home, lest I be lost for ever in this world. I have nothing more for you." Inlé stood and approached the party, expressionless as ever. "Remember our agreement. You will return these to where they belong," he reminded Fang.

"Of course," the eremite answered.

"Good," Inlé nodded.

And then he was gone.

Description
The party left for the plain, setting up outside the festival, just outside of arrow range. Spinel had made sure that they were in a safe area before rejoining the others.

Fernweh had laid his bindle out, and now danced around the blanket that had seemed much smaller on the end of the stick. Inlé sat meditatively in the center of the blanket, and Spinel was certain that even the princess' untrained eye could see the shimmer of raw magic boiling from some secret reserve within their leader.

Spinel could see a channel between the two. Inlé was funneling his magic into Fernweh, virtually casting a spell by proxy. And without seeming to be fatigued by the experience at all. Inlé's robes had become silver again, though he had no wings.

Spinel sat with his six other companions.

"I just can't get over how powerful the boy is," Arrats said. "I've seen three manifestations of his power now, and he's never even broken a sweat doing it."

"Then he is not pushing himself," the soto said.

"That's just it, though," Arrats argued. "I can see how hard he's pushing himself. He collapsed from fatigue right after I first met him. And he apologized for surprising me. He hadn't slept in almost a week because it was less trouble to just keep walking.

"He's so strong-willed that he doesn't even show signs of weakness until he's not only broken, but ground into a fine powder."

"Let us hope," the soto said, "that he does not break until this is over, then. Collapsing would certainly waste us considerable time."

"You almost sound like him," Selice said. "Except at least Inlé doesn't sound like he'd enjoy watching someone collapse."

"True," Qadri said. "He probably wouldn't care either way. I, on the other hand am entertained by people at all times. You are all quiet amusing, after all."

"And you aren't?" Silvermoon asked.

"Of course I am. After all, what would be the point of being if I wasn't amusing?"

Spinel shook his head. This conversation would only cause division, a thing he did not want when they would have to work together soon. He decided to change the subject, and turned to the only topic he was sure would collect everyone's attention, if only for a few moments.

"Sir," he began, addressing the eremite. "You said you now know your name. May we know it as well?"

The bickering women became quiet, and the eremite sighed. "I suppose that this would come up sooner or later. I might as well tell you who I am. Allow me to introduce myself by way of a story."

"Will it be long?" Selice asked. "We don't have all night this time, you know."

Arrats started to scold the princess, but the eremite brushed the comment away. "The short version then." He smiled with gentle affection. "For our own little princess."

I was born the youngest of nine. A nonet, in fact. Similar to a twin. My parents raised us to be a close-knit family, then released us to meet our own fortune. We traveled together for some time, until, one by one, my siblings found lovers and went to build their own families.

I wandered alone for some time, wanting--needing--companionship. This was long, long ago, and there were fewer people who would wander as I did. Occasionally, I would travel for as long as a week alone. I decided to visit between my siblings, traveling from one to the next as I saw a need, and it was in this way that I met my first love.

In those days, there were two kinds of thirianthrope, those born of Moon, and those from the days before the rise of the new gods. She was of the old blood, a she-wolf of exquisite beauty. Sleek, elegant, and wild, she and I came upon one another across a stream as we both came to drink. We ran together, one on either side of the river, for some days before we even once spoke. Finally, she approached me, and we quickly learned to love one another.

My siblings disapproved. Having human lovers themselves, they believed this union of old and new blood was somehow blasphemous. But the gods smiled down on our union, and we soon had a clutch of infants to feed. They were too young to run as my love and I had, and so we settled on the side of a beautiful mountain from whose summit I could see the homes of my kin. And she of hers, though she hated her kin. Never did she explain why.

Our children grew older, but when they were old enough that they could go out on their own, I could not find it in myself to force them to leave. So they stayed with my love and I, and other travelers found their way to our little mountain. And some simply met with us, and some of them joined us, and some of them came to love us. Old blood, human, or beast, each was welcomed, each accepted, each loved.

In time, my lover and I found another to welcome into our circle, and, though she was much younger than either of us, she taught us many things. I was the youngest of my siblings, yet first I was in many respects. First to settle in one place permanently, first to form a stable community, first to bounce grandchildren on my knee as I told them the old tales.

Of course, I was also first to succumb to both the blessings and the curses of my parents...

Fang paused, weary in telling this story. He saw that those who sat with him had begun to come to conclusions. His great-(how many times?)-grandchildren knew, but sat apprehensively silent. The young Archcardinal seemed to understand, as did the knight-boy. Fang was unable to tell what the smiling soto thought, and the princess had not yet caught on. But how will they react when I lay it all to bear? he thought.

He cleared his throat, then said, "By now, some of you suspect my name. Please, allow me to finish this tale before you pass judgement."

At times, a madness came over my siblings and I, and, to a lesser extent, our children. A gift from our mother, who suffered similar fits. She never told her opinion of them, but I argued with my siblings that this was indeed a gift. Insights far beyond what we could normally attain were in that madness, though also a bestiality and wrath that could nearly blind us to the world around us. I found I was close enough to the Dreaming when mad that I could reach out and step into it. A danger my siblings refused to even consider.

Our father had given us the ability to pass a measure of our strength onto those mortals who were not so long-lived as we. I was first to do so, in Biting my second lover. My siblings could not understand the Bite for what it was, and thought it perhaps a danger like the madness. They believed--wrongly--that our father had given us a way to take our lover into ourselves, or perhaps remove our lover through death. Our parents were mad, as we well knew, but still they loved us. I trusted them completely, perhaps only to my own despair.

I had grown accustomed to slipping into my madness when faced with important decisions. I did not understand all of the complexities of the relations between Biter and Bitten, and so was unprepared for the repercussions of slipping into the madness. It was not long after I had Bitten that I made my mistake. I asked my brides--for we had since been introduced to the concept of marriage--to join me, as I had always asked my first lover to do in order to rein me in if I seemed to drink too deeply of the madness. Had I only known.

I slipped into the madness with more difficulty than normal, but then it took full control of me. I watched as the beast within me tore the women I loved to shreds, saw a mist of blood rise around me. Horrified, I watched as I consumed the mothers of my children, flesh, bones, everything. Tears trickled down my muzzle, the only sign that there was even a shred of me left.

My monstrous meal consumed, the beast that had control of me squatted, watching for a way to further destroy all I had loved. Shock had held me in check as I killed, and despair as I feasted. So had I been helpless against this dark side of my being. But werewolf, man, and even wolf can stand only so much weakness before pride takes control and replaces despair with a more useful emotion. Fury.

A red rage consumed me and, as my bestial self forced dark images into my mind's eye, I forced them out. My body convulsed as the battle between myself and this paroxysm of my being warred within the confines of my mind. I tried to purge everything of the evils I had just done from me, and my body steamed as it vomited the contents of my last gristly feast.

There are many things that a person can do to crush a person's spirit. But only a person can utterly destroy himself. Every evil I ever committed, each atrocity I had ever considered, every darkness I had dared not even think of, was now a weapon used against me. Everything I held dear, I saw aflame, tortured, destroyed. Everyone I loved, I saw raped, murdered, consumed.

At times, I could not even tell if those things I saw were true or imagined, and truly, I no longer cared. I was no longer fighting to save those I loved, only to destroy the creature consuming me. The Hunt was on, and I fought to catch and kill the darkness that was all around me. I forced any obstacle out of my way and pressed on.

As I have said, the madness brings us closer to the Dreaming. This means that the things I fought had the substance of Dream as their make-up. But with my madness as a catalyst, they fell into this world as I pushed them aside. This I did not know then, nor would I have cared. I was Hunting myself, and so I needed every ounce of concentration for that.

After an eternity, or perhaps only violent, vicious moments, I cornered my dark form. I moved in to destroy it, but when it turned, I hesitated. My fury subsided as I realized my predicament. How could I destroy this thing that is me? And if I do, will I also die? The hesitation was only momentary, for when I remembered the sight of my lovers' last breaths, the taste of their still warm flesh, I realized that I would not regret dying if I could destroy the monster who had destroyed them.

My double, seeing me hesitate, moved to strike me a killing blow, but when he had struck me, it was not a strong enough attack to kill me. My retaliation, however, fueled by rage and sorrow, was. He fell dead at my feet. I rent his body, forcing it from my mind. Control returned to me, and I found his remnants on the ground before my physical body. I scattered it again, flinging pieces in all directions. Then, in my madness, I slept.

When I woke, I was in the Dreaming, but was no longer mad. I wandered the world as it is in Dream for generations, learning of my children, and their children, and their children's children. Every birth, every success, every love, I was there, giving praise. Every death, every failure, every loss, I was there, giving consolation.

I watched in fascination as my children learned to fear the madness as did the other Packs, despairing at their lack of understanding. But they had not fully forgotten me, for they traveled alone in the madness, accepting it instead of resisting it. When my children were Lost, I was with them and, though I could not save them, I could at least ease their suffering.

None joined me in Dream, though some seemed almost to hear my voice. I feared to become mad again, as I did not know how I would be once in this world again, so I delayed. I asked children as they dreamed what they thought, but none could say. Elders and other adults were too set in their ways even to give such questioning serious consideration in their dreams, and so I was alone. Occasionally, the beasts from the Fogs of Unrest would wander into the Dreaming, and I would destroy them. But that was poor replacement for companionship.

"Why not forget it all?" a pup once asked as he dreamed. And the idea struck me as worth at least an attempt. I locked my memories away and touched the madness just enough to leave the Dreaming. I fell upon the mountain I had once loved, without a memory in my head.

Wandering the mountain, I found the shack that you found me in, one I had built to tie this world and the Dreaming together long ago. It was through this, perhaps, that the monsters had occasionally passed through, though I did not realize what it was or what the monsters were then. So I lived on that mountain, in that shack, alone but for the occasional monster for some time as I tried to piece together my identity.

I had not realized that a person without a name desires one. A selfless self desires to create some sort of being within itself. I began to wander the mountain, and soon came upon the Pack of the Hidden Moon. They were surprised at my presence, and I at theirs, though they did not know me for myself. I was surprised to find others like myself, but something inside me resisted enduring their stares too much.

I learned from them to communicate once more, and traveled with them to the World Tree but, after a year and a day with them, I could no longer stand their company. I left them to live once more on the Mountain of Dreams. Occasionally, I would visit them, then rarely, then only to attend the World Fair under the Tree. Over time, I slowly began to attend those festivals only rarely. Generations passed, and the Hidden Moon forgot me once more, though never entirely.

I forgot conversation over time, slowly losing words for myself as I was slowly consumed by the stories in the shack I named the Tower of Tales. Though it is not truly a tower, such a name felt good for me to give, for I wished dearly for my own, though I could not find it.

Eventually, a small party appeared and persuaded me to join them in their travel to the World Fair, and their leader gave me my name once more.

Son of Old Wolf and Moon, I am the youngest of the new blood. Father of the Pack of the Hidden Moon, creator of the Fogs of Unrest and its oldest beasts, I am First Biter and First Lost, but I am the only Master of the Madness, having escaped my own.

I am Fang.

Fang settled coolly as he finished his introduction. He saw shock even on the faces of those who he knew had realized before he had named himself. Only the soto seemed unfazed, like she found it only to be an interesting joke. He looked most tentatively at his own blood, wondering how they would react. And, to his despair, he saw that the first to react was, indeed, the young wolf-man.

Silentstride jumped from his seat and turned toward the village. Fang sat, prepared to see him storm off, followed closely by the wolf-girl. But the next to rise was Silentstride's Bitten, the knight-boy. Spinel.

To Fang's surprise, Spinel grabbed Silentstride and spun him around to face him. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the Pack," Silentstride said coolly. "Where else would I go with such news?"

"You can't," Spinel said. "You said you were traveling with us."

"This news changes everything." The young wolf pulled himself free from his brother's grip. "The Pack must know."

The princess sprung to her feet. "Why, so you can kill him?" she said shrilly. Fang was shocked to see these two children, not even his own blood, defending him.

"Kill him?" Silentstride echoed. Surprise showed clearly on his face. "Why would we kill him? This is a time for celebration!" Fang nearly reeled. "Our forefather returns to us, and we try to kill him? Perhaps some of the other Packs would try such a thing, but no Hidden Moon would shame themselves so."

"And if the other Packs do try to kill Fang?" the princess pressed.

Silentstride's lopsided grin looked almost eager. "Honestly, princess, I would love to see them try. Go on a warpath against the Hidden Moon? I don't know of any Pack foolhardy enough to try. Especially after this last tournament.

"They would charge in, see my brother and myself standing to face them unfettered, and charge out before we had the chance to attack. The only injuries would be from them running over their own in the rush to escape us." He laughed at the image of chaos he'd conjured in his mind.

Fang smiled. "Thank you, grandson."

"You are our grandfather," Silvermoon said. "You almost seem surprised at our loyalty. Were you so afraid to reveal yourself?"

"Yes. Afraid enough to spend a dozen lifetimes in a place where none could find me and a dozen more unable even to find myself." Fang looked sad. "But even more ashamed than afraid. How could I not be, with the evils I have done."

Silentstride knelt before Fang, clasping his hand. "But also so much good, sir. Our people, the Pack of the Hidden Moon, have lived with the wisdom you showed us from the beginning. Yes, you made mistakes. But so have we all. And so will we make more.

"I have no fear of making mistakes, though, grandfather. Only of not having the opportunity to make new ones."

"Yes," agreed Silvermoon as she joined Silentstride on her knees. "We do not make mistakes and fail. Mistakes are proof we at least tried. Effort is what matters."

"And celebration," Silentstride laughed. "We must go immediately to tell our kin."

Silentstride turned to run off again, but Fang held him fast. "No, wait. Wait until this wander is over. I have been dead for some time in their minds. A few more days will not hurt them any. And besides, some of our party are far too impatient to stand the delay this would cause."

The Archcardinal chuckled. "Inlé does have that particularly impatient quality, doesn't he? Not, of course, that he would show it openly. Most people would think him patient, the way he can do something for so long at a stretch. But I'd bet he does it because he's always behind whatever schedule he's set for himself."

"Perhaps," the soto said. "But it may be better not to draw his attention just now, Arrats. Look, he responds to your naming him."

The party saw that Inlé, indeed, had opened his eyes and was watching them. Power continued to flow from him, and he seemed unaffected, but Fang found himself grudgingly agreeing that it would be a danger to distract him overmuch.

"So what did he make you pay him?" the princess asked. "He's so horrible, you know, making you pay for your name."

Fang chuckled. "There are some places, little one, where a name can save your life. There are times where, without a name, you become nothing at all. What he charged me was a pitifully small price to pay."

Fang paused. "But I do not know exactly how to explain what he asked for. He said that, when he reached this last destination, he would deliver his scroll and leave immediately, in a way and to a place we could not follow. But his items also could not accompany him. He asked me to return them to their rightful owners."

"And who would that be?" Arrats asked. "The goddesses?"

"Yes," Fang agreed. "I must find the triskele maidens before I may return to my tower. Though I believe it will not be difficult overmuch. They will likely not want to leave such a garment in this world when its purpose is complete, not to mention the other items. He could well challenge them if half of the power he shows is his own."

The Archcardinal looked uncomfortable. "Sir, that is very close to blasphemy. As their high priest, I must ask you to refrain from saying such things."

"As you ask, Archcardinal," Fang answered. "But remember that I am older than the goddesses of magic. When I was a child, Magic was a god unto himself. That his daughters overthrew him while I was in the Dreaming does not bother me in the least, for the battle was fierce, and they won over him by all rights.

"But remember this one thing, which will not be told in the holy texts you know. Magic himself had the chance to crush his daughters entirely. Not once, but several times during that battle. He could have prevented it before the battle, had he but told the girls that he knew. But he did not.

"Magic loved his daughters. And though they rose to overthrow him, still he stayed his hand when he would have landed a lethal blow. Magic fell because of the weakness of love. He could not harm the things he held so dear to his heart.

"How I envy him that strength."

Fang saw that he had shaken the Archcardinal's faith. It was not said that the goddesses of magic, the triskele maidens, were the daughters of Magic. The holy texts, as Fang well knew, said that they were mortal women who moved to overthrow the harsh god who ruled over them. The holy texts did not lie. They just did not grant total knowledge or explanation. Patricide is different than overthrowing a tyrant, and less agreeable with most religious sensibilities.

He had not meant to shake her as much as he had, but what was done was done.

"I do, however, believe that they were in the right in this overthrow. The girls loved their father nearly as much as he them. I am sure they wish there had been another way than his death."

The soto laughed. "You speak out of both sides of your mouth, old one. Defend blasphemy, then defend orthodoxy." She shook her head. "Which, then do you follow? The orthodox or the blasphemous path? And to whom do you pray? To your parents?"

"I do not pray as you do, soto. I know well when I have my mother's ear. And I stand in my grandfather's realms often, even so far as to enter his courts and commune with him over a meal. Though I must admit that I have done neither since longer ago than any of you has been born."

"Right!" the vacilando called from a short distance. "All aboard as is goin' aboard! File on quick, not long afore this ride rides!"

Quickly, the party collected on the blanket the Vacilando had laid out. They stood pressed together around the seated Inlé as Fernweh continued his dance, singing the last few lines to activate the spell.

With a shout, the wiry man sprung onto the blanket. "Hands an' feet inside th' borders o' th' bindle. Quiet now, we're t' be makin' history, an' I'm f'r wantin' it t' be good news. Th' spell'll activate in a snap, an' we don' want any of ye t' bite yer ..."

And the spell kicked in. To the party, it felt as though the ground below them had fallen away, and they dropped fast. The blanket stretched up around them, closing over them and sealing into a giant bindle. In the darkness, they fell and shook. Many of the party yelled, but none could tell who beside themselves was in panic.

Downward they tumbled, crashing against one another, and when their eyes had adjusted, they could see unspeakable horrors outside of the gaps in their cloth shield. Worse, some of the horrors had spotted them as well.

Fang, of course, recognized the nightmare realms of the Dreaming. But he was disconcerted, because he knew also that the party was not in the Dreaming. Despite the jarring activity of their container, it felt as though the party was still beside the World Tree. And near some other place he did not know. How this was possible, he did not understand, but Fang found himself praying quietly in a way he had not done before.

And then the bindle went still and settled on the ground. The darkness was true and unmolested by fell beasts. The blanket opened above them and returned to its position on the ground. The party went silent in apprehension, only to hear a brief scraping noise.

A small flame leapt into the air for a brief moment, bright enough in the darkness to seem blinding. Fernweh chuckled to himself as he lit his pipe. "Nothin' like a good smoke after a bit o' fun like that, eh?" he asked.

A more subtle light began to glow from Inlé's still seated form. His face was impassive, but it was alone in this. Even the soto had had her perpetual smile wiped from her face.

"Never before," Qadri said, "have I ever been for being alive."

Fernweh chuckled. "An' how sure are ye o' that, girly?"

Inlé spoke before the soto could answer. "You have given these people a fright, old sir. Mocking them afterward is a poor thing to do."

"Aw, don' be like that, Inlé," Fernweh said. "It were just a wee bit o' fun. T' be sure, no one was hurt by it."

Looking around, Selice saw that this was not entirely true. Bumps and bruises were already beginning to show on the party, and little cuts were healing on most of them. Nothing serious, she knew, but even in his fights the day before, Inlé had not been cut. Now he bled from the forehead and his bottom lip. Though she noticed that he seemed not to.

"And what sort of fun was that?" Arrats asked. Fernweh's chuckle ended.

"I ... ah ... I were just havin' ..."

"How much of that was necessary," Arrats said cooly. "And how much extra?"

"Call it two an' one?" Fernweh said meekly.

Spinel laughed. It started as a small snort, then built into a cackle that knocked him to the floor. His being unnerved began to wear on the others until he suddenly stopped and sat still.

"How much extra time did you spend on this prank?" the wild knight asked.

"None, t' be sure," Fernweh said, trying to nonchalantly puff at his pipe. "'t were faster, in truth. Th' prank got ye closer an' effected ye all t' be o' similar thought. Then th' transport could be cast on th' bindle and not each o' ye in turn."

He took a long drag on the pipe, "Bonus, if th' first spell failed, th' other wouldn't activate. Ye'd be shaken, but not stirred or dropped into th' sky or half into a rock or tree. An' since both spells worked, we're here right on time an' safe as pigeons."

"Not entirely," Inlé said.

"What do ye mean?"

"It is a quarter hour past noon, sir. We are late."

"Ye'd charge me so little time f'r a spell so hard?"

"Of course, sir. You said noon. We are late."

"But ..."

"Your punishment is providing the refreshments for today's repast. Surely you have a store here?"

Flustered Fernweh stammered for a moment, and Inlé cut him off.

"Only the best today, sir. Some here have upset stomachs that may not do too well with some of the things you consider meal."

The others laughed as Fernweh turned mopily to the rock wall behind him, but the princess saw a secret grin on his face as he rapped on the wall.

A section of the wall slid out and aside, revealing a thin room beside them. It glowed a pale blue, and seemed to go on forever. Fernweh began whistling lightly, and things began dancing and floating into the gradually lightening room. A fireplace took a place in one corner, as a table danced to the center of the room, followed by waltzing chairs that spread themselves around the table. Candles draped a tablecloth over the table, then set themselves on the table and around the room. Paintings of beautiful scenery and tapestries of heroic figures and battles hung themselves on the walls. In moments, the room was fully furnished and glowed comfortably.

Fernweh sat at the table, and the others, still looking around, joined him. Arrats was surprised and slightly embarrassed to see herself on one of the tapestries, standing over a fallen comrade as she held off an infernal creature. Fernweh chuckled when he saw her looking at it.

"Ye're much prettier in person, girly. An' harsher. Knowin' ye now, I pity th' demon a bit, t' be sure."

Arrats looked like she was about to say something, but then the food came out.

The food was not as extravagant as Selice was used to in Briqueward, but there was a lot available, and it smelled delicious. Trays of fresh fruits and salads came in first, followed by bowls of nuts and berries. Pitchers came out and rested at odd places. Lastly, two platters of steaming fish laid themselves out as a large platter of glazed venison rested itself on the center of the table. There were no elegant cuts or delicate slices, as the princess was accustomed, but there was a rugged beauty despite.

"Are you forgetting something, Fernweh?" Arrats scolded.

Fernweh furrowed his brow in thought, then said, "Ah, bread. Sorry."

"No, something else."

He scowled. "I haven't but berries f'r dessert. Ye c'n make do."

"Silly man, I meant tableware. Dishes. Cups. Forks and knives, perhaps?"

Fernweh laughed. "O' course! Sorry, lass. It's been quite a time since last I laid out a feast." His face dropped. "Aye, goin' on twenty year. An' then it were f'r two only."

There was a moment of silence, then Fernweh laughed. "O course, much o' th' food stayed out uneaten." He waggled his eyebrows before making another quick whistling to summon utensils for serving and eating.

The next morning--for, Inlé's hasty departure had been precluded by the party's decision that Fernweh and he needed a great deal of rest after such an endeavour--they traveled the few miles to the town of Lost Lake.

Lost Lake is a small lake in a valley surrounded by tall mountains on all sides. But simply traveling across the mountain range will not allow one to arrive in the valley. The lush mountain forests hold an enchantment that, among other things, shields the valley from outside activity. There is only one entrance into the valley of Lost Lake, and it wanders the woods like an old tiger; never is it in one place for long, and never the same place twice in a moon.

If a traveler does find the entrance--usually by accident--they likely had not meant to find it and did not even notice its approach. They pass idly between two trees, or over an odd patch of moss, or under a gnarled stone outcropping, and a path opens before them that they had not noticed before. If they even once step from it, the path vanishes like a dream. But follow the path as it winds away and down, and the traveler finds that they have reached the valley below.

It has been said that the first view of the valley is one of the four most breathtaking vistas in the world, and that the gods Earth and Nature created it to inspire those who found it. No matter what direction the traveler believed they had been moving, they enter the valley facing eastward, the sun's path tracing overhead. Before them, in the distance, a pair of verdant peaks stand apart, revealing the sun and the moon as they rise. Directly in the center of the valley, garlanded by flowers in spring and summer, lies the Lake itself, a shimmering cerulean jewel, that revels in its own magnificent splendor. Even when winter has frozen the world around it, the valley stays warm enough for the lake to stay clear and the grasses on its shore to dance in the chill winds that blow in from the mountain.

Beside the entrance is a boulder standing just taller than a man and no larger in girth than a bull. It is a dark stone, glistening in the light shining upon it as it stands eternal vigil over its lush ward. It stands proud, the loving watcher as the tiny dramas in this small world unfold.

Seemingly from within this menhir stepped the group of travelers who had forgone the path for a faster and, perhaps, less difficult route. Fernweh gauged the expressions of his companions as they stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness exactly as he'd planned. He'd let the light be just bright enough within his hideaway to be certain that their eyes would have barely adjusted to the darkness when their breath was stolen from them.

Fernweh had learned a great many things in his long life. Among these, his most cherished abilities were those of a grand showman. He could turn an ear better than most true bards when he had a mind. Given enough rope to hang himself, the old vacilando could lasso the hearts of the hangman, the judge, and the audience. And belt his pants with the spare line. Despite his skills, Fernweh knew that elaborate speech was inept here. Brevity was as much a virtue of the poet as loquaciousness. "Welcome to Lost Lake," the old man said in the darkness. "Welcome home."

As if on cue, the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon. The sunrise, framed by the two mountains, glowed into the valley to herald the new day. As ever before, tears rose unbidden to the old man's eyes, mirroring the sun's own climb. He was glad that his heart had never hardened against this wonderful beauty.

Looking to his companions, Fernweh saw similar tears budding in most of their eyes, and the princess, precious girl, was crying openly at it. Only Inlé's eyes, to the old rambler's dismay, were untouched by tears. No emotion was revealed in the boy's face or demeanor. He saw only another sunrise, like any other, over an equally ordinary landscape. He was good enough to stand patiently as the others basked in the glory of nature for the minutes it took for the sun to rise fully into the sky.

Then they were off, trekking down the worn path to the small town on the edge of the lake. As soon as the sun rose, the town began to wake, and by the time the party had arrived, business was in full swing. People cried greetings to one another along the wide, ambling roads, and hailed the newcomers as they approached as well. Some, recognizing Fernweh, joined the group as they walked, laughing and welcoming his return. They greeted the others as well, appraising the exotic attire and smiling at foreign accents and strange names.

The party responded cordially, to Fernweh's pleasure, even the soto who, when a ball was sent flying into the group, caught it and returned it to the children responsible with a youthful laugh. The vacilando wondered how much of the smile and laugh were genuine, and how much for show. Perhaps, he mused, he had misjudged her.

Only Inlé, leading the party with head cowled once more, was left out of the merriment. Perhaps that his face was hidden and he was silent was enough to dissuade any from approaching him. Perhaps it was his deliberate gait as he strode calmly through the town. Whatever it was, Inlé reached the center of town a few strides ahead of the party unimpeded by the crowd as they made their ways around him.

On reaching the green that was the hub from which the town spread, Inlé approached the tall statue that watched over the town, her back to the lake. The statue was perhaps seven feet tall, and the same blue as the waters behind her. Fernweh remembered when she had been found in the bottom of the lake, quite by accident, by a pair of boys diving from a boat. She had been dragged up and placed in the town center since his last visit, and Fernweh noticed that those who took note of Inlé's doings did not like the way he approached her.

She stood smiling, looking as though she were about to reach down and embrace whatever child walked before her. Inlé approached her until he was a few feet in front of her. The party had stopped on the edge of the green, following Fernweh's example, and they were a part of the hush that fell as they watched Inlé.

Inlé waited for some short time, unmoving as the statue, and it seemed that the whole town stood with bated breath. A heartbeat. Two. All eyes were on Inlé, and his were on the statue. Finally, with deliberation, Inlé said softly, "Sapphire Maiden, I have come to you with a message. Will you receive it?" Fernweh wondered at how easily the boy's voice traveled without any attempt to do so.

The statue was, as every good statue, silent. No response came from her as she stared blindly down at some beauty only she could see. Inlé repeated himself, and again, and again. Five times he echoed his words. Five times the sapphire maiden held silent. Five times the murmuring began in shock that the cowled man would address the maiden so. Fernweh heard a child quietly ask why the statue wasn't answering. The boy was promptly hushed.

She knows, thought Fernweh. She knows why we have come, and she wishes not to have to face this. He mused that he would likely make the same efforts in her place. Inlé aside, the group with him was formidable in many ways, and there were more than had been summoned.

A sixth time, Inlé repeated, "Sapphire Maiden, I have come to you with a message. Will you receive it?" He paused briefly, then said, "You cannot deceive me as you may others. You do not breath, nor does your body twitch, nor do you betray yourself to the natural eye or ear. But you glisten with the energies of life and magic, and you flinch, if only in your eyes, at my voice. I am here only as a messenger, but I take my duty seriously, and am ready to wait for your willingness to receive this scroll for as long as it may take. You may have the patience of the stone and the sea, but I do wait as Time herself. How many years do you wish to test me?"

The statue sighed, and the princess, impatient beside Fernweh, made a slight squeak of surprise in response. Fernweh had thought the girl understood why they had all come. She must have known, but not believed.

"I hear you, Wanderer. I merely wish for you to leave me be. Why is it that you must harass me with your deceits?"

"I harass you only with this scroll, Maiden. There is no deceit in me on this matter. What reason would I have to be deceitful, when I have a message for you from the goddesses of magic?"

"And what message, pray tell, is sent by the supplanters?"

"That, Maiden, I would not know," Inlé answered. "I merely deliver the messages as I received them, neither writing nor reading them. Your business with the goddesses is your own, and I would not become involved of my own desire."

"How cold of you to bring my death to me without a care upon your brow." An angry and shocked murmur rose from the gathered townsfolk. "Why not read the message to me, little friend. My eyes are good enough, perhaps, but I am unskilled at reading. Even if I take the scroll, it would not be properly received until its message has been read. Handing me the scroll will not release you from your duty, will it? Otherwise, you would have left it at my feet and been gone now, would you not?"

Inlé nodded slowly. "True enough, madam. Do you then wish to contract my aid in reciting this message? There will be a fee, of course."

The Maiden made a disgusted noise, and said, "And you are greedy above all else. What then, Wanderer, is your price? You may as well make it steep."

"I have no desire to do so, madam," Inlé answered, unfazed. "My fee is that you commit the message to memory as it is read, that you remember it always. I wish not to be held to repeat myself as you discern the meaning within the message."

"Done," the Sapphire maiden said. "And may the memory of this day shame you for eternity."

"Unlikely, madam. If you would break the seal? And now, I will relay the message.

"Safir, Maiden of Sapphire, handmaiden to the old Lord Magic.

"We, his daughters, goddesses of magic after his death, do demand you return to the courts you have sworn to serve. Though the old Lord is dead, your service is as required now as before. Your obeisance is demanded in the courts of magic, and to defy the goddesses further shall deliver their full wrath upon you.

"Should you return immediately to the courts, your absence will be overlooked, and you shall be returned to your rightful place beside the thrones. However, should you refuse, the party of adventurers here gathered have been granted the authority to force you to return. They have been given permission to use whatever means are necessary to complete this task, and may even kill you should you resist.

"The goddesses plead that you return to your home once more. Though there was a time of grief allowed for one so close to the old god, the new remain in need, and that time of grief is long ended.

"Do not mistake mercy for weakness." Inlé finished reading the message as tonelessly as he had begun. Safir fell to her knees, weeping. The townsfolk watched mutely as tears slid from the statue's face, slowly forming a crystal spire on the ground. No one spoke as she wept, and Fernweh felt a gentle pity for the maiden. It is a strange thing, he thought, to pity a god. Even one dethroned.

Inlé knelt in front of the Maiden, and placed a hand on her shoulder, almost as if consoling her. But what he said was anything but consoling. "You have received your message, and my mission is now complete. The path laid before you branches from this scroll I place at your feet. You know the paths you may choose. You know which you will wander. You alone will decide the fate you choose. May even the gods be damned to change your will."

"Please," the maiden begged, "take this choice from me."

"I cannot."

"Then save me from it."

"I cannot."

"Protect me from those who would oppose me."

"I cannot."

"Whatever fee you desire, Inlé, I will give you. A thousand maiden's tears, perfect in every way. Rare, beautiful, and powerful magic. One alone could make you a king."

"I cannot take this request, maiden. My time in this world is spent. I must return home, lest I be lost for ever in this world. I have nothing more for you." Inlé stood and approached the party, expressionless as ever. "Remember our agreement. You will return these to where they belong," he reminded Fang.

"Of course," the eremite answered.

"Good," Inlé nodded.

And then he was gone.