THE LIGHT OF THE PATH

CHAPTER I

	The sun's early morning rays split the Eastern Peaks of 
Nordenland like bright banners through a column of rigid soldiers.  
The soft golden light burned triumphantly over the tall pines of a 
beautifully green forest and glanced a silent echo off a deep blue 
lake.  The lake shimmered silently as a comforting breeze pushed 
against its glass like surface forming tiny wakes that lapped on the 
shore. The lake stretched out for miles, but appeared small in 
comparison to the large pines surrounding it.  The pines were 
immense in height, some nearly a hundred feet tall and five feet 
thick at the base.  They rose up like massive wooden giants, 
ageless guardians frozen in time.  
	Serenity filled the morning, not unusual for Autumn turning 
Winter.  Light splashing of the wakes against the shore of the lake 
marked the only static sound.  Infrequently, an occasional rustling 
in the brush of a squirrel or other small animal readying itself for 
the forthcoming winter would intrude on the stillness.  The sun 
rose higher above the peak shedding its soft light on the shores and 
embracing the western side of the pines.  A bird chirped and a deer 
ventured from the safety of the forest to the edge of the lake, ears 
twitching, listening for any sign of danger.
	A sleek coat and trim legs hinted that the deer was young, 
perhaps two years old, and white patches on its hindquarters 
marked it to be a doe.  Though young, she was not inexperienced 
and paused twice in the unprotected open area between the water 
and the trees to make certain she did not become feast for man or 
other wild animal.  Hunters from the nearby town of Aubon would 
often frequent the forest and prowling wolves were not uncommon 
this far north.  Apparently satisfied that neither presented itself, she 
continued to the edge of the lake and drank from the cool, clear 
water.
	Like a ripple across the calm lake, the breeze subtly changed.  
The change was more than in the wind, however, it was a feeling, 
and the doe sensed it immediately.  Her muscles tensed and her 
ears perked sharply.  She cocked her head and sniffed the air 
searching for danger.  For a moment silence fell upon the forest as 
if in expectation of a great occurrence.  It remained so briefly and 
then vanished like a forgotten thought.  The typical sounds 
returned and the doe returned to her drinking.
	A faint cry broke briefly through the trees and the doe lifted 
her head and cocked her ears in the direction of the sound. 
Somewhat spooked, she fidgeted back from the water, all the while 
stretching with her senses, knowing that something lurked in the 
forest..
	Then the feeling came again, only this time stronger and with 
a hint of animosity.  Not hesitating, the deer bolted for the trees 
leaped a small bush, dodged another one scraping her flank, and 
flew into the forest like a frightened bird. Again the area around 
the lake went strangely silent all sounds seemingly snuffed out.  
The breeze ceased altogether.
	About a hundred yards south of where the doe entered the 
thicket a cloaked and hooded figure stumbled out of the trees and 
onto the shoreline, tripping and falling roughly to the ground.  
Trembling arms shot out from under the cloak blocking the fall, 
while dark hands scraped on the sharp stones imbedded in the 
grassy beach.
	Struggling to its knees the form hunched over in pain, rocking 
in  an anguish more than any physical torment. A large hood 
covered any facial features and the cloak covered its body from the 
shoulders to below the knees, but the hands remained uncovered. 
Fists clenched and the knuckles turned white with pressure. Its 
body shook violently for several moments and then subsided. The 
hands disappeared back under the cloak.  Rising to its feet, the 
cloaked figure looked back toward the trees and turned north 
limping along the shoreline.
	Staggering back and forth like a drunken man the cloaked 
person made its way along the lake shore.  Booted feet scraped the 
ground kicking up dirt, rocks and grass.  Sunlight cut into the open 
hood revealing a bearded chin and a mouth tightly closed, but 
shadows hid all other features.  The figure continued, now more 
than a quarter mile from where it had exited the woods.
	A loud crash erupted a half mile south on the same shore from 
where the hooded person stood.  A large stallion smashed through 
the trees and out onto the shore line, branches fell about it and 
stones scattered as it ground to a halt. The horse's rider, a huge 
warrior clad in chain mail and a helm that resembled a tiger's head, 
reined it in. Turning at the sound, the cloaked figure looked toward 
the warrior. It stared unmoving briefly, then slowly pulled back the 
hood and removed the cloak, tossing it in a bundle to its side.
	A man stood where the cloaked shape once had.  Not old, 
crippled, or bulky, like the cloak portrayed, but young strong and 
agile.  A close cropped beard covered his face and his hair was 
long and straggly. His deep blue eyes whispered of fear, but his 
countenance was rigid and undaunted at the sight of the warrior.  
He stood unarmed and wounded. Two large gashes in his right side 
left stains of dried blood on his shirt and a broken arrow tip 
protruded from his right leg.  Black clothing adorned the man.  His 
shirt held tight about the shoulders and arms, but because of the 
cuts in his side it hung loosely about the waist.  His dirty pants lay 
snugly against the lower leg, but baggy on the thighs and torn 
where the arrow penetrated. Heavily worn from travel, black 
leather boots covered his feet and calves.  Sitting down exhausted 
the young man awaited the unavoidable confrontation about to take 
place.  He eased his back against a bush behind him and released a 
sigh of pain. 
	Four more horses burst through the trees, their riders reining 
them in behind the first.  All were warriors garbed in the same 
armor as the first and wore tiger like helms.  They had battle axes 
strapped to their backs and broadswords hung from their hips, 
delivering a grim spectacle next to the blue lake.
	Apparently the first rider led the group and stretched forth his 
arm, pointing toward the black clad man.  The others waited 
anxiously for his command, the muscles of their horses quivering 
in anticipation, but instead of charging the leader reached down 
and clasped a medallion that hung at his chest.  It was ebony black 
with ancient inscriptions  inscribed onto the smooth surface.  He 
held it tightly with one powerful hand and a soft red glow began to 
encompass both the medallion and his hand. As the medallion grew 
brighter, the leader's eyes appeared to glow red beneath the 
masked helm.  Soon his entire head emanated a faint reddish glow 
making him seem out of focus in the morning light.  Reaching out, 
the huge warrior touched each of his comrades' weapons. When 
his hand met metal, their weapons glowed bright red for several 
seconds before  returning to a normal, dense gray.  Faster than it 
had come the glow dissipated from the leader, except for his eyes 
that remained fluorescent red.  For an instant the morning remained 
calm, quiet.
	Then they charged.
	Screaming out like banshees in the night the five warriors 
rushed forward.  Notwithstanding they were better than a quarter 
mile from their target, they drew their weapons with fervor, 
grinning with the anticipation of wolves to a lame deer.  Calmly, 
the black clad young man sat watching the oncoming foe, knowing 
this would be his stand.  He shrugged dismally, turned his head and 
spat.  Pushing all thoughts of escape from his mind, he fell into 
deep concentration.  Sweat began to build on his face, his brow 
furrowed and his eyes closed, as he forced the fear from his mind 
and fatigue from his body.  He rolled his head from side to side 
looking not unlike a puppet in a slight breeze.
	The five came on.  
	The young man's body began to shake with the overcoming of 
his mental and physical wounds, but then went still.  He opened his 
eyes slowly squinting in the light.  The galloping horses were now 
just a few hundred yards away not slowing in the least.  The young 
man saw the red glow of the foremost rider's eyes and raised his 
eyebrows in wonder.  He came to his feet swiftly, bringing his 
arms straight out in front of him.
	Palms facing out, the man on foot looked as though he would 
attempt to hold the riders at bay with his bare hands.  Indeed, all 
but leader slowed his mount to a trot, then stopped altogether.  The 
four riders looked around in a daze.  Perplexed at the thought of 
attacking an unarmed man they lowered their weapons.
	Noticing the dilemma of his comrades the leader reined in his 
great stallion and turned on them.  His eyes glowed brightly.  
"Attack!" He roared, his voice a booming thunder in the stillness.  
The others snapped out of their bewilderment, but made no motion 
to resume the charge.
	"Your weapons!  Raise your weapons!" The Leader called, 
pointing at their weapons.  The swords and battle axes glowed red 
like before and the spell broke.  The warriors raised their weapons 
and shouted with anger at the fax pas.  They would not be fooled 
again.
	Rising up on its hind legs, the leader's stallion spun in place 
and crashed down; launching into a gallop.  The other, now 
maddened, warriors followed close behind and the distance 
between the combatants quickly closed.  Knowing that his was a 
formidable opponent, the leader would not risk any more delays.  
He would ride up and cut the other down with a single blow.  It 
was only a matter of seconds.
	The man in black felt differently.  At the failing of his earlier 
attempt to botch the attack, the young man brought his hands 
together, interlocking all but his forefingers.  He raised his clasped 
hands up above his head and brought them down pointing at the 
leader.  Then at the leader's horse.
	Weapons gleamed in the sunlight as the great warrior closed to 
within fifty yards of the young man.  The thunder of horse hoofs 
filled the air.  Just as it appeared the warrior would trample the 
young man the leader's great stallion balked and skidded to a halt 
sending the, fully armored  warrior hurling over its head and 
crashing in a heap on the gravel-grass shoreline.  The other riders 
reined their horses around the stallion and their fallen leader, 
bringing them to a stop in a half circle twenty feet from the black 
clad man.
	Rising to his feet as if he had merely tripped the large warrior 
stood.  He reached over his shoulder and in one smooth motion 
drew a massive sword from its solid black sheath strapped to his 
back.  The sword's handle and blade were dark black like the 
medallion. The blade gleamed menacingly in the sunlight.  Slowly, 
he advanced on the other...
**********
	"Did you see that," whispered an excited youth, barely able to 
contain his voice from being heard.
	"How could I miss it, Pahl" replied his companion, just as 
quietly.
	"But he should have broken his neck at that get up.  Flyin' off 
that horse like that."  Pahl moved closer to the edge of the thicket, 
sliding on his stomach and pulling himself with his hands. "And he 
got up like he meant to take the fall."
	"Quit moving around.  You're going to give us away."
	"Look at that sword," continued Pahl heedless of the other's 
prudence.  "All black like soot.  You ever seen a sword like that in 
Aubon?  Or Gahlen for that matter."
	"Let's hope he doesn't decide to use it on us," was the candid 
reply.  "Come on Pahl, we had better be off."
	"We can't go now, Derek," stated Pahl, looking at his 
companion as if he should have known better.  "What of the man 
in black.  He is unarmed."
	Derek was behind and to the right of Pahl, squatting on his 
knees and looking through the brush.  He turned and looked at 
Pahl. "What are we supposed to do?  Charge out with our hunting 
knives and short bows and cut them to kindling?  Those are trained 
fighters Pahl, not forest rabbits.  And when was the last time you 
saw fully armed warriors out here?"
	Pahl frowned at his friend's lack of enthusiasm.  But actually, 
he had not seen any warriors travel through Aubon much less ones 
as ferocious as these appeared.  The only fighters he had seen were 
free lance mercenaries in the city of Gahlen, but Gahlen was more 
of an Eastern trading town than a city.  The two young men were 
from Aubon, out hunting the lake area. They had left their village 
before sunrise, but it took a few hours to reach the lake.  They had 
not seen much game yet and were target practicing on trees and 
bushes when they heard the galloping horses and came to the edge 
of the thicket.  They had arrived just before the large warrior fell 
from his mount.
	Pahl glanced up at Derek.  "Look," he said.  "The warrior is 
more than a match for that man in black, and I don't fix on lying 
here and watching him get killed." His face was a mask of 
determination in an effort to force his companion into action.
	Indeed, the warrior bore down on the wounded man, eyes 
ablaze and black sword held out menacingly.  The young man did 
not move, nor did he retreat, but stood calmly in front of his 
opponent, arms hanging loosely at his sides.  Seated atop their 
mounts, the four warriors waited.  	Without warning, the large 
leader swung his black sword in an arc.  It came around in a blur of 
speed that would surely finish the man in black.  He would be 
hewn in half like a stick before a sharpened ax.  Amazingly, as if 
anticipating the move, the young man jumped straight back letting  
the blade cut through empty air with a swish. Recoiling from the 
miss the warrior brought the sword above his head in a small circle 
and swung it down in a forward lunge. Again the young man 
dodged the blow, diving to his right into a roll and back onto his 
feet.
	The large warrior moved in front of the agile man in black and 
brought up his sword. His voice boomed out with a strange hollow 
ring, "It is useless to continue your weak resistance, Retter.  Your 
tricks will not help you now."  He reached his right hand down to 
clasp the medallion and moved a step closer.  The man in black 
watched him warily.  His eyes fixed on the black sword.  "Did you 
think that the Warlord would send someone weaker than the last?  I 
will finish you like I have the others!"  Emphasizing his point he 
lunged forward swinging his sword  in a wild frenzy.
	The young man dodged the first two passes.  Almost quicker 
than the eye could follow he leaned and bent out of the way of the 
terrible blows.  At first it appeared he was too quick for his 
massive armor clad opponent, but with skill born from a harsh land 
of death and battle the warrior soon tired his prey.  A short 
distracting feint with his leg followed by a harsh upper cut, caught  
a glancing blow on the agile young man's shoulder, knocking him 
sprawling into a bush.  Blood poured down the young man's left 
arm as he tried to untangle himself from the bush.  Desperately he 
crawled away as the warrior moved closer to finish him.  Sweat 
and blood now drenched his black shirt.  Severely wounded and 
tired, he knew now that he would not last against this attacker and 
backed away from the warrior searching vainly for escape.
	Moving in behind their leader the four other warriors closed 
on horseback. The leader, now stood right above the blood stained 
man, and raised his sword to deal the mortal blow.  As he did, two 
tipless arrows struck the flanks of the closest rider's mounts.  The 
arrows did not penetrate, but the harsh sting made the horses bolt. 
Riders, caught ill prepared for the sudden lurch, fell to the ground 
with a brutal thump.  The two horses barreled into the leader from 
both sides, sending him flying into the same bush from which, the 
young man had previously crawled, banging his helmed head on 
stone.  The sword flew out of his hand and stuck into the sand ten 
feet away.  Startled by the bolting horses the other two horses 
began to buck, but then they too were smitten across the flanks by 
another assault of tipless arrows.  Following the first two horses 
they bolted, sending their riders to the ground and trampling the 
ones who had previously fallen.
	Amazed, the man in black rose to his feet and looked about.  
He could see that the large leader had been knocked unconscious 
as well as two other warriors. The horses were still galloping down 
the shoreline except for the large stallion, and the two conscious 
warriors were groggily shaking their heads trying to figure out 
what had occurred.  Then he saw them--two young men waving 
toward him from the trees.  He shook his head, clearing it. They 
couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen.  What were they 
doing here and why had they saved him?
	"Come on!" One of them shouted. The man in black needed 
no more encouragement. Quickly he limped over to the stallion, 
grabbed the reins and with a wince of pain swung into the saddle.  
He kicked the sides of the horse and charged into the two men who 
were slowly coming to their feet.  Knocking them to either side, he 
turned the horse around and galloped to where the two young men 
impatiently waited.
	In a matter of seconds he had ridden to where the others stood 
holding their bows.  Without hesitation they jumped on the stallion 
behind the man in black.  Kicking the horse's sides the man guided 
it into the forest at a trot.  Soon they were in the forest dodging in 
and out of trees and bushes that seemed to buzz by even at this 
slow speed.
	"There is a small trail about a half mile south-east," said one 
of the young men.  "Our horses are tethered at the edge of it."
	"What is your name?" Asked the man in black as he reined the 
stallion to the right barely missing a tree trunk and almost 
dislodging the others.
	"Um...my name is Pahl," replied the young man who had 
previously spoken, "and this is my brother Derek.  Well, actually 
he's my adopted brother, but still my brother all the same."
	"Pahl, we don't even know the man," whispered Derek in 
foreboding.  Derek looked older than Pahl with straight brown hair 
and a muscular build.  While Pahl, only a few months younger 
looked more like a year or two because of his curly blond hair and 
slim stature.  
	Saying nothing more for a few minutes the three concentrated 
on skirting the bushes and trees and staying on the horse.  The big 
stallion could accommodate them but only with difficulty and even 
after a quarter mile it began to sweat. When they slowed to a walk 
Derek said, "We need to stop and bandage your shoulder.  That 
was a nasty blow he gave you. And that arrow tip must come out."
	"We'll stop when we reach your horses," replied the wounded 
man.  "Until then keep a watch for the five. They must not catch 
us."
	"No one could catch us now!" Exclaimed Pahl, a big smile 
crossing his face.  "Did you see how we disarmed them.  It will be 
hours, perhaps days before they round up those spooked horses."
	"Don't be too sure," came the reply.  The man in black was 
not at all certain of how long it would be before the five were back 
on his trail, but he knew it would not be long. He started to say 
something more, but instead fell forward onto the horses neck 
dropping the reins.  Pahl, who sat behind him, held him from 
falling while Derek jumped off the horse and grabbed the reins. 
Pahl lowered the man down from the horse with the help of Derek 
and they set him against a tree.  Derek delicately pulled the shirt 
off and applied several pieces of cloth from both of their shirts to 
the wounded man's shoulder, binding the makeshift bandage in 
place with leather string used for tying game.  Then they did the 
same with his side wound, but left in place the arrow in his leg.  
The local healer in Aubon would have to take care of  that.
	Leaning back the young men grinned at each other, feeling 
like they had really accomplished something worthwhile.  They 
had felt miserable for most of the summer working at a fur trade in 
Aubon with Pahl's family. Derek's parents had been killed by 
bandits two years previous when a caravan heading to the capital 
became targeted.  Armed mercenaries accompany most caravans 
and a volunteer group of hunters called the Eastern Brigade 
routinely patrol the roads.  Under the command of the Duke of 
Gahlen, this force kept raiders and robbers under check.  Since the 
death of Derek's parents Pahl's family had adopted him.  The two 
young men did everything together, including the hard chores.  The 
work at the trade had occupied most of their summer.
	Derek took a piece of cloth and after dampening it applied it to 
the unconscious man's face and forehead.  He wiped away the dirt 
and sweat and checked the bandages.  They did not look good.
	"Pahl," said Derek.  "This man has a serious fever.  There's 
something more wrong with him than the wounds."  Pahl didn't 
have a chance to answer.  The man awoke with a start and looked 
at Derek and Pahl and then at the bandages.  He touched the 
wounds lightly with his finger tips and then attempted to get up but 
to no avail--his strength all but depleted.
	"How long have I been out?" Asked the man and without 
waiting for a reply he said, "Help me up.  We've got to go." The 
brothers looked at each other, concern mirrored on their young 
faces.
 	"Help me up,"  repeated the wounded man.  
	"I think you should rest a bit more," said Pahl. 
	"And I think you should help me up before my friends arrive 
and there is no longer a need," said the man with a weak smile.  
Lifting the man to his feet, the two brothers helped him over to the 
stallion and into the saddle.  They picked up their bows and 
pouches and secured them to the horse behind the rider. 
	"Who are you?" Asked Derek genuinely curious as to the 
man's humor in such a devastating situation.  Had he been subject 
to such an attack he would be anything but humorous, much less 
eager to ride horseback with an arrow in his leg.  But the man 
didn't seem to mind and that amazed him.
	"I am many things," responded the man. He paused 
contemplating how he might tell them who he was. "Yes, many 
things," he repeated.  "None of which you are likely to understand.  
But if you are asking for a name, I am called Hawk."
	"Hawk," said Pahl. "You mean Hawk the Wanderer?" 
	"The same," said Hawk.	
	Derek gave Pahl a questioning look so Pahl explained his 
knowledge of the man. "A Northern Dwarf mentioned you when I 
bought some boar skins from him.  He said you helped him out in a 
pinch one time.  Said you were pretty much a loner with no 
friends."
	The man raised his eyebrows at that last comment and Pahl 
thought that he might have been too bold. Then he smiled and 
Pahl's tension eased.  "Must have been that good for nothing 
Podez," sneered Hawk sarcastically. "Haven't seen him in a 
while."
	Hawk leaned forward in the saddle fighting off the pain he 
was feeling.  Derek took the reins and started leading the horse 
through the wood, while Pahl walked along side Hawk making 
sure he didn't fall off.  Despite Pahl's earlier confidence that they 
could take their time the need of the Aubon Healer demanded 
swiftness.  Hawk's wounds, despite his attitude were severe.

CHAPTER  2

	In a short time the rescuers and the man called Hawk reached 
other horses.  With no sign of pursuit they started on the trail that 
would lead to a larger road to Aubon.  Their progress remained 
slow due to Hawk's condition, which became steadily worse. By 
the time they had reached the larger road noon had passed and 
Hawk slouched down in his saddle.  Hawk's instability forced the 
brothers to ride on either side to keep him from falling.  Several 
times he slipped off the saddle caught by Derek or Pahl, who 
struggled to steady him.
	Derek had gone back more than once to leave false tracks and 
cover their own hoof prints.  It was a difficult task and the hours it 
took to get to Aubon were troublesome.  Even so, Derek insisted 
on making their trail difficult to follow for the safety of the 
residents of their town.  The warriors they saw could easily have 
comrades and his town did not have a militia to defend itself.
	A small town, Aubon prospered mainly as a trading depot. It 
had one inn that served as a stay over for hunters and travelers to 
Gahlen, and a small tavern where hunters could share news of the 
current events. Lying on the Eastern side of the Kingdom, Elves 
and Dwarves frequently stayed in town.  Prejudice against other 
races never developed this far East.  Much different than its 
existence in the larger, mid-regional cities.
	The three rode into the small village like a ragged band of 
peddlers.  All were shirtless and dirty.  Hawk by far the worse 
looking, lay over the neck of the stallion as if he were dead. A few 
of the locals stared at the them.  Familiarity at the sight of the 
brothers turned quickly to suspicion of the wounded man.  Derek 
and Pahl paid them no heed and rode directly to the Aubon Fur 
Trade. They arrived as a little girl came through the front door 
carrying a small white rabbit in her arms.  She looked up as the two 
climbed down off their mounts.
	"You're home early, aren't ya?" Asked the little girl, her big 
brown eyes looking up at them.  Then she saw the wounded man 
on the stallion and dropped the rabbit, bringing both of her tiny 
hands to her mouth.
	"Oh!" She squeaked.
	"Listen Tania," began Pahl, "go and fetch Bardoff.  Tell him 
we have a very sick man and he needs help.  Can you do that for 
your brother?"
	"Yes, but I have to catch Stannered first," replied Tania.
	"We'll catch Stannered," Offered Derek, "but you must be 
quick."
	"I will," she promised, skipping off toward the Healer's 
residence.
	Derek tied the two smaller horses next to a water trough 
outside the Fur Trade, while Pahl secured the stallion to a poll. 
Together they pulled Hawk down from the large horse, and 
haphazardly carried him through the front door.
	"Father!" Shouted Pahl as they entered the trade.  A young 
woman walked into the room carrying a knife in one hand and a 
rolled deerskin in the other.  She brushed back her long brown hair 
with the forearm that held the knife.  She had lovely facial features; 
blue eyes, a dainty nose, and thin red lips creased in a smile.
	"Pahl," said the woman and then saw the wounded man he and 
Derek carried.  "Who is that man?  And what happened to your 
clothes?"
	"His name is Hawk, Mother, and he is very ill," replied Pahl.  
"And where is Father?"
	"Your Father is down at the river with Bojax Freed. They're 
cleaning some new skins." 
	"We sent Tania to fetch Bardoff," said Pahl.  "But until he 
gets here, maybe you can help Hawk."
	"I'll do what I can."  She set the knife on a counter. "Bring 
him to the guest room, and I'll get some clean cloths and healing 
salves." Carrying the unconscious, wounded man to the guest 
room, the two brothers carefully lay him on the bed.  He had been 
sliding in and out of consciousness since the ride back, but now he 
lay deep in sleep. They adjusted a pillow under his head and waited 
for their mother.
	Returning with a bucket of water, clean cloths, and salve, the 
woman knelt next to the bed.  She placed the bucket next to her 
feet and dipped one of the cloths into it.  With the wet cloth she 
gently wiped the dirt from the man's face and from around the 
wounds; carefully taking off the makeshift bandages to keep the 
wounds from reopening.  She worked quietly applying salve to the 
leg and shoulder wounds. Derek and Pahl stood by watching 
sheepishly as their mother replaced their poorly constructed 
bandages with clean well-positioned cloth. Pahl turned as he heard 
a deep voice in the front room and the sound of the door opening.
	"What's all this gibberish about a man half dead?" The 
comment resembled that of a grumpy old man.
	"Go tell Bardoff we're in here," said Pahl's mother as she 
continued in her work.
	Both Pahl and Derek went into the front room to get the 
Healer.  They came through the hallway and saw him standing next 
to Tania.  He was nibbling without interest on a piece of dried 
meat.  Bardoff was a plump, old man dressed in a brown cloak tied 
by a knotted rope around his large belly.  His gray hair was 
thinning around the crown of his head beginning the makings of a 
bald spot.  He held a cloth satchel in his hand and leather pouches 
hung at his waist, connected to the rope.  Presumably, nuts and 
dried meat filled the pouches, for the man was not one to go long 
distances in search of nourishment.
	Upon seeing the two brothers, the portly Healer patted Tania 
on the head and said, "Sweet Tania here has told me that you are in 
need of my services."  When he mentioned of the young girl's 
name, the grumpy Healer's voice had turned soft and gentle.  
Eyeing the two young men a frown returned to his face.  He had 
obviously been pulled away from some important business, 
probably his lunch.
	"Show me where he is," commanded Bardoff in a deeper, 
stronger tone.  "And Pahl, fetch me some bread and cheese.  A man 
can't work on an empty stomach, you know."
	"Yes, sir," was Pahl's only reply, though a hidden smile lay 
beneath his dormant lips.
	Pahl left the front room of the trade and went into a back 
kitchen area with little Tania in tow.  Derek showed Bardoff where 
the wounded man lay unconscious.  The young woman greeted 
Bardoff with a smile and stepped back to give him some room.
	"Hello, Maggie, it looks as though you have a bad one here."
	"Yes. He's definitely in poor shape," agreed the woman.  
"What do you think of that arrow?  I didn't want to touch it until 
you arrived."
	The large Healer moved in closer to the wounded man's leg. 
"Well, let me have a look," he said.  Kneeling next to the bed, 
Bardoff carefully inspected the arrow that protruded from the 
unconscious man's leg.  He touched it lightly and a groan broke 
from Hawk's lips, though his eyes remained closed and his 
breathing soft.  Reaching into his satchel, the Healer pulled out a 
wooden bowl and spoon, two large, green leaves, and a small 
yellow root.  He placed the two leaves cross ways into the bowl 
and put the yellow root on top of them.  With the spoon, he 
crushed the root into a paste; folding the leaves over and mixing 
them. After thoroughly mixing the root and leaves the Healer 
opened two of the small leather pouches connected to the rope at 
his waist.  Using both hands he withdrew a small amount of 
powder from each one.  One powder was shiny black and the other 
looked to be nothing more than sand.  He mixed the two powders 
into the paste and added a few drops of ale from a bottle in the 
larger satchel.
	"Now, when I apply this mixture to his leg he'll come awake.  
I want you to let him drink from this bottle," instructed Bardoff.  
He handed the bottle of ale to Maggie.  "The mixture will deaden 
the pain and keep infection out," he continued.  "The ale will help 
him sleep once we are finished.  Derek hold his leg steady."  Derek 
moved in next to Bardoff to get a good grip on the leg.
	Pahl returned with the requested food, but Maggie had sent 
him out to help Tania find her rabbit.  Pahl did so without 
objection.  He knew that someone needed to occupy Tania's time to 
keep her from disturbing the Healer.  He felt a little dejected, 
however. After all, he was the one who devised the plan to save the 
man called Hawk.  He knew Hawk better than anyone else.  The 
Dwarf Podez had told him about the loner from the Westland.  
Yes, he should be the one to help with the healing, not baby-sit his 
younger sister.
	Tania was searching behind some large wooden barrels in 
front of the blacksmith shop, when Pahl saw the rabbit.  "Over 
there, Tania!" He yelled.  "He's by the stables!" Tania looked up.
	Pahl and she ran down the street to where the rabbit was 
hopping into the Horse Keep.  The Keep had a fenced off yard for 
horses to roam and a dozen stables. It was into the stables that 
Stannered decided to go.
	"Wait here while I go in and fetch him," said Pahl.  "You 
might get hurt amongst all those horses."
	"I'm not afraid," said Tania defiantly.
	"Wait here," repeated Pahl and he walked into the stables.  
Two young men, about the same age as Pahl, were working with 
the horses. One was cleaning a hoof and the other was feeding the 
horse a carrot.  The one with the carrot looked down and noticed 
the rabbit nibbling on his soft, leather boot.  He picked it up by the 
ears, showing it to the his brother.
	"Well, looked what we `ave `ere," the one with the rabbit said. 
	"Looks like supper to me, Erik," said the other.
	Pahl saw the two and stopped.  "That's my rabbit, Erik," he 
said.
	"Oh, is it now?" Replied Erik.  "looks like its takin' kindly to 
me.  Ain't that right, Peck?"
	Dropping the horses hoof, Peck stood up next to Erik. Both of 
them were larger than Pahl.  They wore knee high boots covered 
with horse dung and their dirty breeches were more horse hair than 
anything else.  Pahl knew this wouldn't be easy.  These two were 
mischiefs, pranksters, and bullies.  If they weren't harassing him, it 
would be someone else.  They had moved into Aubon with their 
Father who rarely came around.  He spent most of his time in 
Gahlen trading horses leaving his son's as basic independents.
	Taking a deep breath Pahl tried again, "its my rabbit. Just give 
it back, okay?"
  	"We'll give it back when we're good and ready, bunny boy," 
taunted Peck taking a step forward.  He felt confident knowing that 
Pahl's Father and Bojax Freed weren't around.
	"Maybe we'll feel inclined to give you the rabbit if you tell us 
who that  man was," said Erik.  "The one you and Derek were 
helpin'."
	"That's none of your business," said Pahl.  "Besides, I don't 
know who he is, anyway."
	"I think you're lying, bunny boy!" Growled Peck.  "I think 
that you're the fool who put that arrow in his leg."
	"I was not!" Said Pahl, trying to keep his voice from going 
high.  It was useless to argue with the two.  This was getting 
nowhere.  They were much too big for him to fight and if he didn't 
leave now the choice would not be his.
	Peck slammed the sharp point of the hoof cleaner into a stable 
board, and stepped closer to Pahl, raising a fist.  Pahl shoved him 
back, but Erik walked up next to him, grabbing him by the 
shoulder.
	"Let go," said Pahl, pushing Erik.
	Erik dropped the rabbit and it hopped out of the stables.  "You 
made me lose my dinner," he sneered. "I'm gonna have to teach 
you some manners!"  Without another word Erik slugged Pahl in 
the stomach, doubling him over.  Pahl stumbled back, coughing at 
the quick loss of air.  The two larger men laughed and leaped on 
him, pulling him to his feet. Erik grabbed him by the hair and 
pulled his head around to face him.
	"You got somethin' to say, bunny boy?" Erik asked with a 
wry smile.  "Apologize for disturbin' us, runt!"  He shook Pahl 
hard.  "Apologize, I said!" 
	"I'm...I'm sorry," Pahl gasped.
	"Not good enough!" Shouted Peck with glee, hitting him hard 
in the face.  Pain lanced through Pahl's head.  He fell onto his 
back. Tears came to his eyes, blurring his vision, and blood ran 
from his nose.  He tried to sit up, but a foot landed a kicking blow 
to his shoulder, sending him into a pile of hay.
	"If you want to act like a horse," said Peck, "you might as 
well smell like one."  Picking Pahl up by both arms, the two 
dragged him over to a pile of horse manure.  Together they tossed 
him headlong into it.  The manure was wet and oozed about his 
head and arms, fully soiling his tunic and breeches.  Erik and Peck 
brought him to his feet and threw him out of the stables and onto 
the street.  "Better go home and wash up," was the last thing that 
Pahl heard. 
	Pahl lay in the dirt street for a moment before sitting up. He 
wiped what he could of the manure from his face, chest, and arms.  
He wondered where Tania had gone and then reasoned that she 
must have gotten the rabbit and gone back home.  A horse and 
rider came by.  The man on the horse commented, "Better quit 
playin' in the horse dung, boy.  It's not the best way to catch a 
girl."
	Real funny, thought Pahl.  Then he thought about how he 
must look.  Like, well...like crap.  He managed a small smile. What 
had he gotten into over that stupid rabbit?  And the man in black? 
What did Erik and Peck care about who he was?  He had never 
gotten along with them, but it had never come to blows.  The 
pounding in Pahl's face and nose broke his thoughts. His stomach 
didn't feel too well either.  The stench wasn't helping. It didn't take 
him long to get on his feet and head down toward the river.  
Perhaps he would see his Father and tell him what happened. He 
quickly discarded that thought.  It was humiliating enough being 
beat up by Erik and Peck, and ridiculed by the townspeople, 
without letting his Father know what a fool he was.  Only a few 
people noticed Pahl and probably none recognized him as he made 
his way down to the river.  He decided to go further downstream 
than normal, so he wouldn't chance meeting his father.
	Taking off his boots and trousers, Pahl waded into the cold 
water.  He quickly washed the horse droppings from his face, hair, 
and chest.  Even though the water was cold, the breeze and the 
afternoon sun dried him soon enough.  When he was  completely 
dry, he dressed and headed back to the Fur Trade.
	Most of the people in Aubon lived in a cabin next to a stable, 
or a shop connected to a house.  Pahl's family was no different.  He 
had lived in Aubon all of his life. When he was a small boy the 
family had started the Fur Trade directly from his house.  Together 
with Derek's parents, they had eventually remodeled the Trade into 
a custom Fur shop; delivering furs as far as Gahlen and to all the 
towns round about.  Because the roads had become so infested 
with bandits, it was nearly impossible to deliver or receive goods.  
If it hadn't been for the Eastern Brigade all travel and trade would 
be virtually non-existent without a company of armed guards for 
protection.
	Pahl took a different way than normal to the Trade.  No sense 
in having another run in with Erik and Peck, and getting pole 
whacked twice in one day.  He approached the Fur Trade and took 
a second look at the big stallion that had saved their lives.  
Awestruck by the size and power of the horse, Pahl ran his hand 
along its neck.  He had never seen a horse so muscular and well 
defined.  He laughed at the thought of going  riding down to Erik's 
stable and riding right over him.  He slapped the horse lightly on 
the neck and walked to the front door.  He heard voices inside and  
moved closer, but did not go in.
	"...all I know is what Derek has told me," came a voice Pahl 
quickly recognized as his mother's.
	"Well, there's no possible way those were outlaws, Maggie. 
Did you see the stallion?  That is a war horse."  Pahl decided the 
second voice must be Bojax Freed. It had a deep resin tone to it 
that only Bojax could own.
	"And no band of outlaws would chance riding around on a 
warriors stallion for all to see," finished Pahl's Father.  "I just 
don't understand what a group of skilled fighters would want with 
the wanderer."
	"Unless he stole something from them," offered Bojax. "From 
the way Derek described them, they are definitely from the South.  
And if that's true, you must be housing a crown thief."
	"When he's well, he'll be moving..."  the pounding of hoofs 
muffled the voices and Pahl casually turned to see who was 
coming.  It was Derek riding bareback on one of the mares.  The 
horse slowed to a trot and Derek leaped off.
	"Where have you been?" He asked.  "Tania's been back for 
over an hour and I got to fearing those armed men."
	"Nothing to worry about," replied Pahl nonchalantly.  "I found 
Stannered and then went down to the river to get father."
	"Well he's back," stated Derek flatly.  "And he's not too 
happy about the wanderer being under our roof.  It's not that he's 
mad about what we did, just more concerned about his condition 
and what the other's might mean.  Who knows Pahl?  I mean, what 
if they follow our trail here and find the stallion in front of the 
Trade?"
	"I don't know," answered Pahl, "but they're talking about it 
right now so we might as well go in and see what we're going to 
do."  Together Derek and Pahl entered the Fur Trade.  The 
discussion between the adults stopped as they came in, but 
resumed when Pahl inquired on the status of the wanderer.  Maggie 
informed him that Hawk was asleep and would remain so for a day 
or two. The Healer was not at all sure he would survive, but 
conveyed that he showed an unusual inner strength that would 
most likely pull him through.  Again they examined questions and 
answers on a possible solution with the stallion and the wanderer.  
The four adults, including Bardoff the Healer, questioned Pahl and 
Derek in detail of the mornings encounter with the warriors.  It 
became readily evident and accepted by all that the armed men 
were not thieves or soldiers, but mercenaries--soldiers for hire--
most likely from the South. That posed an awesome threat since it 
was rare that southerners were ever seen this deep in the Kingdom 
of Nordenland- especially fully armed ones.  Bardoff suggested it 
would be wise to notify the Duke of Gahlen and the Eastern 
Brigade.  He volunteered to inform them.  Since he was already on 
the town council it wouldn't be difficult and the council could send 
a message to the Duke with the next caravan to Gahlen.  Someone 
could inform the Brigade when they made their monthly visit to 
Aubon.  They were due in six days.
	A major problem arose when discussing the stallion. 
Obviously, they could not keep it out front.  If the owner happened 
to come into Aubon, all questions would be quickly answered upon 
seeing the stallion.  Bojax suggested selling it to someone heading 
to Gahlen or just an ordinary traveler, but Pahl's father did not 
want to put such danger on an unwary buyer.  It would not be a 
pleasant surprise if he were to chance upon the southerners.  Other 
recommendations were made about the horse and the points were 
argued until they finally decided to keep the stallion behind the 
Trade.  The main reason being the wanderer's need for 
transportation when he was ready to go.
	Everyone seemed eager for him to leave, except Pahl.  The 
man called Hawk intrigued him.  He wanted nothing more than to 
learn about him and why he was now here. 

CHAPTER 3

	In the three days that followed the arrival of Hawk the 
wanderer into Aubon, appearances changed among the simple 
villagers.  Where unconcerned traders and hunters would sell their 
goods and talk freely at the local tavern, now the locals cast a wary 
eye toward all visitors and almost all the men carried a weapon of 
some sort.  Flagrant gossip caused this, spreading after Bardoff had 
confided in the town council. Naturally, the council members felt a 
need to tell their spouses and their spouses their friends until the 
stories ran unchecked.
	Stories and rumors were not anything new in Aubon, but this 
time physical evidence stemmed the tongue of uncertainty.  To 
most, a wounded man harboring at the Fur Trade gave ample 
credibility to exaggerated anecdotes.  Many had tried to visit and 
verify their curiosity of him, but were quickly turned away by 
Maggie or the Healer. The man had still not returned to 
consciousness and to the townspeople he became an enigma.  
Although most residents returned to their labors, some of the more 
raucous would demand to see the wounded man and upon refusal 
they would quickly accuse the family as liars or harbors of a 
criminal.  Some would even threaten to inform the authorities in 
Gahlen.
	The townspeople considered Derek and Pahl veritable heroes 
and asked them more than once to share a drink at the tavern and 
relate the ever elusive story.  Most often they would respectfully 
decline.  Pahl, seeing a window of opportunity, would try to weave 
some tale into the selling of his family's furs.  This became 
lucrative in the short run, but after a few days and more than one 
skeptical eye his sales tapered off.
	On the fourth day after Hawk's arrival, the excitement died 
down under the front of a small storm.  Starting as a light shower 
and building into a heavy downpour, the storm began to turn the 
streets to mud.  Rain coupled with muddy streets kept most 
travelers at the inn and a good number of locals behind closed 
doors.  That evening Hawk awoke.  He had stayed in the guest 
room since Derek and Pahl had brought him there. Because of his 
condition the family had not moved him to one of the smaller 
rooms.  The family made frequent visits, but apart from his restless 
stirrings he had not come out of his slumber.  Tania happened to be 
in the room this time, staring at the man as he opened his eyes.
	"Where am I?" Came Hawk's slow, dry and barely audible 
voice.
	Tania, standing near the door, ran to where he lay.  "Oh, 
you're awake," she said smiling.
	Hawk's eyes, somewhat glazed and blurring his vision, looked 
in her general direction. "Yes," he said swallowing against the 
dryness in his throat.  "I am awake.  Where am I...and...and who 
are you?"
	"I'm Tania," she said.  "And you're in my house."
	Her voice was soft and disarming, bringing a smile to Hawk's 
face.  He blinked several times clearing his clouded vision and 
spoke slowly, "Well Tania, if this is your house, could you bring 
me a cup of water?"
	"Uh huh," she replied and ran out of the room.
	"Wait!"  He tried to yell, but his voice was too weak and she 
had already run down the hall.  He wondered of the two boys who 
had brought him to this house.  No matter, he thought.  He would 
find out soon enough.  Taking a deep breath Hawk let his eyes 
slide closed.
	"Mama," said Tania as she ran into the den where her family 
and Bojax Freed sat talking in front of the fire.
	"Just a moment, dear."  Tania's mother was busy mending one 
of Pahl's tunics.  She was concentrating heavily on a corner stitch.  
"Let me just finish here.  There.  Now what is it, sweetie?"
	"The sleeping man wants some water."
	Pahl and Derek look at each other, jumped up, and headed for 
the guest room.  The others followed, with Maggie putting down 
the tunic and her sewing materials and Bojax Freed following her.  
Bojax Freed stopped short of leaving the living room, went back to 
where he had previously sat and retrieved his sword.
	Tania stood alone in the room.  "What about the water?"  She 
asked with arms stretched out and a frowning face.  She hesitated, 
then followed her family.
	"Your awake!"  Said Pahl and Derek simultaneously as they 
burst into the room.
	"It would seem so," replied Hawk, opening his eyes.
	"But your alive!  I mean, you�re not...well, we thought that..."
	"What he means," Derek cut in, "is we're happy to see you 
well again."
	"I don't know if you call lying here in pain well, but thank 
you," said Hawk.  He stirred, adjusting a feather pillow more 
comfortably behind his head.
	"Sir," said Maggie. "I can get the healer to come by.  Maybe 
he can do something about the pain."
	"That's all right," replied Hawk.  "It's not that bad.  Some 
water would be fine though.  And please, call me Hawk.  I am not a 
nobleman."
	Maggie smiled and left to retrieve some water.  Pahl's father 
moved closer to the bed.  He knelt down to converse at eye level.
	"That was my wife, Maggie,"  he said.  "My name is Roshay 
Kempter.  My two sons met you in the woods five days ago.  You 
were hurt pretty badly and have been recuperating here." 
	"My thanks to you and your family," said Hawk.  "I hope that 
I have not caused any hardship."  He noticed the sheathed sword in 
Bojax Freed's hand.  "I am not dangerous, my friend.  I could 
scarcely sit up, much less attack you."
	Bojax Freed set the sword aside and responded with a slight 
smile, "just a precaution.  I am called Bojax Freed."
	Hawk smiled and nodded.  Maggie returned and offered him 
the water.  For the next hour Roshay Kempter and Bojax Freed 
explained to Hawk the last few days and what Pahl and Derek 
knew had occurred.  Hawk in turn told the family what he felt they 
needed to know concerning the attack.  He explained that they 
were simply Southern robbers he had the misfortune to meet.  He 
did not want to frighten them by saying whom he really believed 
they were and what they really wanted...him.
	These thoughts taunted Hawk as he lay awake long after the 
Kempter's and Bojax Freed and left him to rest.  He knew the 
attackers were from the South and that they were after him.  He 
knew this, but yet, did not know why.  What could anyone want 
with him, a waylander?  A homeless traveler whose past was not 
much more than failure at the all but forgotten school of the Retter.  
Could it possibly have something to do with his training at the 
school, or some vengeance a particular instructor wanted to pay 
tribute to him.  No, it was too long ago, thought Hawk.  He 
doubted if anyone there actually remembered him.  He had heard 
rumors of the academy's closure, but never took the time to 
investigate for himself.  Still, the frequency and ferocity of the 
attacks demanded every possible consideration.
	He let his thoughts drift back to when the attacks first started. 
The first assault was hardly a threat since it seemed to Hawk as 
merely poorly trained thieves needing extra income.  He had been 
on a messenger mission to the Duke of Gahlen and thought for a 
moment whether the attack pertained to his message.  He 
discounted that immediately, since he had been carrying messages 
for almost a year and never had any problems with them.
	Then came the second attempt.  He spotted them almost 
immediately upon entering the Spider Silk tavern in Gahlen.  
Heavily armed, with thick fur coats covering their leather armor, 
and strange helms that looked like tiger heads lying on the table 
next to each of them.  It was the helms, more than anything, that 
gave them a rather foreign appearance.  As Hawk walked closer to 
the men, one of them saw him and nudged the others.  Without so 
much as a greeting they launched their attack, swords and knives 
flying.  Hawk met them with the same fury using the ancient skills 
of the Retter.  Skills that he had learned during his stay at the 
school.  He dispatched one assailant almost immediately, but there 
were three left.  If it had not been for the confusion among 
customers and pandemonium that broke out, Hawk would have been 
in serious trouble.
	It was the third and most recent attack that nearly took his life 
and convinced him there was a price on his head.  A veritable high 
one at that.  A group had followed him for two days after leaving 
Surik and then ambushed him.  Hawk fell asleep still thinking 
about what the large warrior had said to him on the bank of the 
Silver Lake.
	Rain patted softly off the window the next morning when 
Hawk awoke.  He was rapidly regaining strength and sat up in his 
bed, checking the bandages on his leg.  The wounds in his side and 
arm were healing quickly, but his leg, where the arrow had struck, 
burned sharply.  He touched the bandage lightly and winced.  It 
would be some time before that would fully heal.  And it might not 
fully heal at all, unless he did something.  Something he had not 
done in several years.  Hawk shuddered at the prospect.  Knowing 
he must begin to use his skills more frequently and to in greater 
depth if he thought to challenge the force that wanted him dead.
	Lying back, Hawk closed his eyes and drew back within 
himself.  Reaching for his inner strength and the power that he 
learned to use during his training as a Retter.  He found it, shaped 
it, and used it to pull the pain from his leg.  Deep in this inner 
spectrum he formed an image of a large and powerful horse 
harnessed to a great burning stone.  Slowly the horse stepped 
forward dragging the stone away from Hawk.  The stone fought 
back and flared.  Fire lanced out from its core to burn the horse.  
The mighty struggle between the two began in earnest.  White 
foam appeared on the horse's neck and back as it sweat with the 
strain of the pull.  Soon the horse reached a large river.  In a final 
effort, the stone sent a burst of flame engulfing the entire horse in 
crimson fire.  Without slowing, the powerful horse continued 
forward, striding into the river until both horse and stone sank into 
the cool waters.  A puff of white steam arose out of the river, 
dissipating into the air.
	Hawk opened his eyes and released a long, drawn out breath  
With the back of his arm he wiped the sweat from his forehead.  
Reaching down he touched his upper thigh where the bandages 
were.  A smile crept slowly onto his tired face.  No pain, he 
thought.  Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bed.
	The coolness of the cedar floor on his bare feet refreshed him 
after the heat generating, traumatic experience overcoming the 
pain.  He stood up and just as quickly sat down.  The blood leaving 
his head and rushing through his lower body was too much, too 
soon.  His head swam dizzily in lightness.  It was always a strange 
experience rising after a sickness, but this was unbearably 
nauseating.
	Hawk rubbed his temples lightly with the tips of his fingers 
and rolled his head in a small circular motion.  He stood up again 
fighting to control the faintness and sickness gnawing at his 
stomach and head.  Regaining control he looked around the room, 
searching with his hands for a candle and some flint.  He bumped 
into a small table by his bed, nearly knocking it over.  Carefully 
running his hands over the top of it he found an oil lamp with a 
sparker.  Turning a small knob on the lamp ignited the wick, 
bathing the room in a soft yellow light.  Hawk blinked several 
times, allowing his eyes to adjust to new light.  Looking around the 
room he saw his black tunic and pants mended and folded on a 
small dresser.  Next to them were his stockings and boots.  Sitting 
on the edge of his bed Hawk reached over and grabbed his 
clothing.  He dressed slowly and with care.  His wounds had 
miraculously undergone dramatic changes, but he did not want to 
chance another hardship by pushing himself.
	With the lantern in his left hand, Hawk opened the door of his 
room and walked into the hallway.  He walked down the hall 
quietly, not wanting to wake the family.  At the end of the hall he 
entered the kitchen.  He was ravenous from the minimal food he 
had eaten and the expending of energy to stay his wounds.  With a 
little searching he obtained two oranges and a small loaf of bread.  
Placing the lantern on the kitchen table he sat and began peeling an 
orange.
	Halfway through the first orange he stopped.  For a brief 
moment he sat unmoving then resumed peeling, putting the 
inedible skin in a small pile.  Behind him, standing in the shadows 
of the doorway stood Maggie and Roshay Kempter.  They didn't 
speak, just waited, watching their enigmatic quest.
	Hawk continued until he had finished peeling the first orange.  
He held the uneaten orange in front of him and without turning 
said, "I hoped I would not have woke anyone."
	Roshay raised his eyebrows thinking Hawk had not noticed 
them.  Maggie replied, "You didn't.  Roshay and I normally get up 
early to arrange our furs before the store opens."  Both the 
Kempters moved into the kitchen, sitting at the table on either side 
of Hawk.
	"I see you found breakfast?"  Said Roshay with a questioning 
look.
	"I hope you don't mind," replied Hawk.  "Surely, you have 
both been more than hospitable and generous to a stranger.  I have 
lost my belongings at Silver Lake escaping the robbers, but I wish 
to work at your Trade for a time to repay your kindness."
	"I appreciate your offer," said Roshay shifting uncomfortably 
in his chair, "but I think it would be best if you were on your way."
	"When you feel well enough," interjected Maggie giving her 
husband a stern look.
	"Yes, of course," conceited Roshay.  He wanted to add, `and 
you're looking quite well now,' but glancing at his wife he thought 
better of it.
	"Again, I thank you, and understand the danger my presence 
represents.  I will be leaving today if possible, and as soon as I can 
I will send remittance for my stay here."
	"Today?" Questioned Maggie, "you can't be well enough to 
travel this soon.  I know Bardoff is a fine healer, but he is not a 
Retter.  And even if he were I don't think you would be leaving 
this soon."
	"Some heal faster than others," was all Hawk could say.  The 
use of the term `Retter' startled him and he fumbled with his 
words.
	Roshay noticed his uneasiness, mistook it for agnosticism and 
said, "Oh Maggie, don't bring up the mystical `followers of the 
Path' again.  We haven't seen a Retter around here for more than 
ten years.  And you know the king has ended the order, closing the 
Keep for almost five years.  At least that is what we have heard 
here."
	"I'm sorry, Hawk," began Maggie.  "This is a sensitive subject 
to many people. With all the rumors of the fallen Retters and so 
forth, many people don't like to talk about the Path at all.  Most of 
us in the East still cling to the belief in the eternal Path, but many 
travelers feel that we are religious fanatics."
	Hawk smiled.  Even though he found the talk of the Keep and 
Retter unsettling, there was a comfort in Maggie's voice that 
calmed him.   "Perhaps I should stay a day or two," he said.
	"Of course," agreed Maggie, cutting off the comment her 
husband was about to make.  "We do have several skins that need 
cleaning, and if you're up to it, Bojax can use a hand repairing a 
leak in the shed."
	"I'm sure I can help," said Hawk.
	"Well now, how about some herb tea," offered Roshay.  "It 
makes that hard bread a bit softer."  Maggie got up to start the tea.  
Roshay started to stand and stopped when he felt a hand on his 
arm.
	Looking at Roshay Kempter with sincere determination Hawk 
almost whispered, "I won't forget your kindness, Sir Kempter."  A 
moment passed as the two stared at each other.  An odd sense of 
understanding passed between them and Roshay knew that 
whatever Hawk appeared to be, he was someone of unique 
background and talent.  The use of `Sir' before the surname was 
not lost on Roshay.  It was a noble term of the highest respect, 
leaving him the strong belief that this man would not forget.
	Before long the whole family was up and bustling about their 
chores.  Pahl, Derek, and Tania greeted Hawk warmly as he 
cleaned skins.  Maggie found him quite adept with his hands 
despite the shoulder wound and taught him how to cut and tether a 
rabbit skin.  The rain kept up throughout most of the day 
demanding attention to the shed.  Bojax and Roshay rearranged the 
wood in the shed so it would stay dry.  Repair of the leak would 
have to wait until the next day.  Twice during the day customers 
had come in.  One of them, a portly cook from the Inn asked about 
Hawk.  Maggie said he was doing fine and was working in the 
back.  When pressed to see him, she abruptly told the cook if he 
wanted to buy something buy it, but if not then to leave.  The cook 
left empty-handed.
	With the rain came the cool night air.  The family sat around 
the fireplace discussing the repair of the shed for when the rain let 
up.  Derek suggested that they connect an oiled leather tarp to a 
couple of poles like he saw in Gahlen at the market place.  With 
the tarp in place they could work all day in relative dryness.  
Roshay considered it, but concluded that it would not be worth the 
effort unless the rain persisted.  Hawk sat off to the side in mute 
silence.  A victim of his own thoughts, he barely heard the family 
discussion.
	Hawk reflected back to the attack at Silver Lake,  
remembering the glowing red eyes of the warrior who faced him 
and the black sword that had pierced his shoulder.  That warrior 
was not the average clansman from the South and his sword was 
definitely more that a great sword.  When it cut him, it burned like 
fire to his very core.  He knew if he had not had the training of the 
Retter he would have perished.
	Retter.  The word stuck in his mind.  That is what the warrior 
had called him.  Yet, he was not a Retter.  A Retter wore white, 
symbolically referencing the Light of the Path or center of their 
belief.  A Retter also wielded the ancient Protectorates; some type 
of living stone cylinders with immense wisdom and power.  He, on 
the other hand, dressed in black, which to himself signified shame.  
And he had never earned the right to hold Protectorates.  There was 
some truth to the words, however.  A Retter had trained him and he 
spent some time at the Retter complex, known as the Keep.  But it 
had been many years since he was last there.  He had not even 
given it much thought until the strange attacks began.
	Hawk let his thoughts drift to what Roshay had said that 
morning.  He had said that the Retter were all but non-existent and 
that the king had closed the school of training and contemplation 
for Retter and that the Keep had been closed for almost five years.  
Could this actually be true?  Personally, he had not seen any Retter 
since he left the Keep, but that didn't mean anything.  He was a 
recluse, never spending more than a day in any town.  He preferred 
the wilderness, and as such, was not privy to the general 
information that belonged to most.  The Kempter family lived far 
East.  News from the West would certainly be tainted by the time it 
reached any town east of Gahlen.  Still, he needed to know.  He 
had not planned to return to the Keep, but with no other real 
destination it was as good a choice as any.  Maybe he would lose 
the band of Southerners.  Or perhaps they would lose interest when 
they realized he was traveling into the heart of the kingdom.
	Whatever he did, Hawk decided, he must do it immediately.  
He had put the family and possibly the village in jeopardy by his 
remaining.  He would leave before dawn.
	Pounding on the door of the Trade brought Hawk out of his 
internal meandering.  Tania lay sleeping in her Mother's lap and 
Pahl and Derek adjusted a log on the fire.  Bojax Freed and Roshay 
exchanged surprised looks and rose out of their chairs.
	"It's a little late for customers," whispered Roshay, as the two 
headed for the shop area.
	"Yes, it is," replied Bojax Freed.  Reaching into his coat he 
brandished a small hunting knife.  He turned it blade up, with the 
back resting against the inside of his forearm.  He held the handle 
cupped in his fingers making it virtually invisible until needed.  
Roshay looked at him questioningly and he replied with a shrug, 
"an old bar brawl trick."
	The pounding sounded again as the two made it to the front 
door.  Through closed shutters Roshay could see the illumination 
of several torches.  With a slight hesitation he called out through 
the closed door.  "We're closed for the night, the Inn is three 
blocks to the east."
	There were a few grumbles from outside, then a gruff voice 
replied, "open up, keeper, were are members of the Eastern 
Brigade.  We are here on official business."
	Roshay looked at Bojax Freed, who shook his head. They both 
understood what this meant.  The Brigade wasn't due in Aubon for 
at least another day and certainly would not be calling on him in 
the middle of the night.  Either something serious was happening 
or these were impostors.  Watching his friend bring the knife into a 
fighting grip, Roshay knew he thought the same thing...impostors.
	"Um, state the manner of your business," Roshay weakly 
improvised.  Obviously there were Auboners watching this display 
or soon would be.  If he could keep them out front long enough, 
they might not risk the attention.
	"Open up and we'll discuss it," replied the other.  Then he 
added belatedly, "My men are tired and wet and in no mood for 
bantering."
	"I have a right to know your business, sir."
	There was a short silence and then some mumbling that 
neither Roshay or Bojax could understand.  Then came the answer, 
"You are harboring a murderer and his accomplices."
	Roshay's eyes widened. "What?" He said.
	"We have been informed that a man in black is staying here 
and was brought into town by two boys.  This man has killed one 
of our Brigadiers and escaped from the dead man's companion by 
the help of two boys."
	Roshay signaled to Bojax Freed who was already standing in 
the hallway that led back to the house.  Bojax Freed knew exactly 
what Roshay wanted: to get the boys and Hawk out of the house 
and possibly out of town.  Quietly he ran down the hallway and 
into the den.  He tucked the knife back into his coat and grabbed 
two rain resistant coats that were hanging on wall hooks.  He knew 
Roshay would stall the supposed Brigadiers as long as possible.  
This was a dangerous game they played and delay could mean 
death.
	Bursting into the family room, Bojax tossed the two coats to 
the boys.  They caught them with astonished looks on their faces.  
He looked for Hawk, but the black clad man was not around.  "Get 
your boots on, and put on those coats," he said crossing the room 
toward the kitchen.  "And where's Hawk?"
	"I'm here," came the reply.  Hawk was standing in the 
doorway to the kitchen, two satchels in one arm and a rain cloak in 
the other.  "I take it we have unwelcome customers?"
	"What is going on here Bojax?"  Asked Maggie.  She was 
now standing in the middle of the room holding the sleeping Tania.
	"No time to explain," replied Bojax.  "Hawk, I took the 
stallion down to the river.  He's tied next to an old shed.  There are 
several mares grazing in the area.  Get the horses and make for 
Gahlen.  Go straight to the Constables office.  We will meet you 
there in two nights.  After the Brigade arrives we will come."
	Hawk nodded.  he turned toward Maggie.  "The boys we'll be 
fine," he said.  And he meant it.  Without further word the two 
boys and Hawk went out the back door into the stormy night.
	Maggie visibly winced as the door shut behind them.  She sat 
back down and tried to act casual.  Bojax picked up the fire poker 
and prodded at the logs.  They both could hear arguing in the shop 
and more than once Bojax Freed felt tempted to get his sword.  He 
fought back the urge, knowing it would only destroy the deception.
	The voices grew louder.  Footsteps pounded down the hallway 
and four wet, armed men walked into the room followed by a 
concerned Roshay Kempter.  A casual glance at Bojax removed 
any doubt that the boys had left and Roshay stood more easily.
	"I told you that they left this morning to Rorshauk for rain 
canvas," said Roshay.  "They won't be back until next week."
	"Then you won't mind if we look around," sneered one of the 
soldiers.  They spread out, going into the kitchen and back 
bedrooms.
	"Hunny, what is this about?"  Maggie asked in mock surprise.
	"They think Derek and Pahl were involved in a crime.  
Obviously a case of mistaken identities."
	Bojax Freed simply watched the men trudge around the house.  
He acted as though they had been intruded upon falsely, but added 
a touch of disinterest to alleviate suspicion.  He now knew for 
certain the men were not Eastern Brigadiers.  First, they had a look 
and demeanor of common soldiers or mercenaries, not hunters.  
Second, only one of them, the leader, wore an Eastern Brigade 
Hunters Clasp.  And third, the Brigadiers were never this forceful 
in any providence of the Kingdom.  If someone had committed a 
crime, they would let the local authorities handle the arrests.
	Bojax kept his observations to himself.  If all went well, the 
soldiers would give up and spend the night at the Inn, leaving in 
the morning to Rorshauk.  This would send them in the opposite 
direction of Gahlen.  With any luck the real Eastern Brigade would 
arrive early and hunt this group down like rabid dogs.
	Hawk and the boys slipped out the back unnoticed.  Several 
local residents were conversing with the armed men at the front of 
the Trade.  Hawk prayed his luck would hold out.  If they had 
guarded the exits...he left the thought unfinished.  The three 
quickly made their way through the small field in back, across a 
side street and down a back road that led to the river.  It was dark 
to the point of complete blackness, but Pahl and Derek knew their 
town well.  They led confidently with Hawk a step behind.
	The two boys did not know what to make of the situation, fear 
and adrenaline pushed them.  Hawk was sufficiently sure of their 
adversaries to maintain a level of confidence and quick thinking.  
He knew they were not the southern warriors from before, but most 
likely hired mercenaries of Nordenland,  keeping the southerners 
incognito.  They should not have any problem getting to the horses 
and then to Gahlen.  Still, he would take precautions.
	They reached the stallion without incident.  Hawk found the 
saddle in the old shed with some rope.  He gave the rope to Pahl 
and Derek, telling them to round up two of the mares.  Hawk was 
no horseman, but he had done enough riding to easily saddle and 
bridle the stallion.  There were not any extra saddles in the shed, so 
the boys would have to ride bareback.  In this country it was 
common for the less fortunate to ride without a saddle; they would 
not look like fugitives once they reached the main highway.  Tying 
on the provisions he had prepared at the house, Hawk leaned back 
against the old shed.  Somewhat protected from the rain, he waited 
for the boys to return.
	"We have found nothing, sir.  They must be in Rorshauk by 
now."  Three soldiers stood in the family room disgusted looks 
across their faces.  Without a word the one whom the last soldier 
had spoken to, turned and stalked out of the room, the others 
following close behind.
	Roshay and Bojax stood at the front of the Fur Trade watching 
as the four would be Brigadiers met their companions.  There were 
eight of them altogether.  After a brief discussion with a town 
council member they climbed on their horses and rode in direction 
of Rorshauk, their torches flickering in the wind and rain.
	Most of the residents had gone home earlier, but the few who 
weathered the rain now sauntered back to their warm homes.  The 
council member remained.  It was Bardoff, the Healer.  He walked 
over to where Roshay Kempter and Bojax Freed stood in the open 
doorway of the Fur Trade.
	"It appears are visitors are leaving disappointed."
	Both Roshay and Bojax shrugged.  Roshay said, "You know, 
the Brigade isn't due here until tomorrow."
	"I know," said Bardoff.  A smile creeping to his face.  "I told 
our friends that very same thing.  I guess they have urgent business 
elsewhere."
	Bojax raised his eyebrows and Roshay laughed openly.  
Roshay stepped out of the doorway into the rain.  He looked to 
where Hawk and the boys would have gone.  He started toward the 
river when Bojax grabbed his arm.
	"Don't worry about them," Bojax said to his friend.  "They're 
in no real danger.  After the Brigade gets here we can saddle up 
some horses and meet them in Gahlen.  It will do them some good 
going on a night ride like this."
	"You're right, my friend," said Roshay.  Turning to the Healer 
he said, "Why don't you come in for a cup of Maggie's famous 
herb tea?"
	"If she has some of those crumb cakes, I would be delighted," 
the Healer chuckled.  "You know, dealing with riff raff can make a 
man hungry."  Even Bojax laughed at his statement.
	The boys will be fine, thought Roshay.  A late night trip to 
Gahlen and a few days on their own will give them good 
experience. He just hoped he could convince Maggie of his 
optimism.

CHAPTER 4 

	It would be difficult to see anyone approaching while hunched 
over in a saddle.  Pahl didn't care.  He was already fairly drenched 
and if he sat up he would freeze.  For the last two hours they had 
been riding along the small trail that led to Gahlen Highway.  It 
had taken them almost an hour to reach this trail from the shed.  
Pahl had mentioned that they should just go back to Aubon and see 
if the men had left.  Both Derek and hawk vetoed this, so he 
decided to accept the reality of riding for the next two hours in  
heavy rain.  At least until they reached Crossroads Inn.
	To Pahl it seemed almost absurd to ride all the way to Gahlen 
because a few strange men showed up at their door.  Especially in 
the middle of the night, in a heinous downpour.  He almost laughed 
at the audacity.  Who could be so compelling as to make his father 
act this foolishly.  He would not have really cared if it wasn't so 
cold.  He would have actually enjoyed a trip to Gahlen.  But this 
was ridiculous and with every sloshy step his horse took, Pahl's 
mood grew darker.
	Long since overcoming his earlier fear, Derek now led his two 
companions toward Gahlen Highway with confidence.  He had 
expected a confrontation since reaching the trail, but when none 
materialized he settled back and relaxed.  This would be a long ride 
and there was no sense in remaining tense and tiring early on.  
Relaxed, he could tell Pahl was not liking the ride.  He could hear 
him muttering to himself periodically.  He smiled at this.  Pahl was 
always quick to emotion.  This self talking had become second 
nature to him when something upset him.  And bad weather upset 
Pahl Kempter.
	Derek's smile turned somber as he reflected on the man they 
led; the strange man in black.  Who was he really?  Derek knew he 
was not the simple wanderer Podez the Dwarf dad described to 
Pahl.  Derek had talked to Pahl several times about the man, but 
Pahl always contended that the wounded man was some mystical 
mage from the West.  `Why else would it take five armed men to 
bring him down,' he would say.  Derek knew better.  Pahl was 
always a bit off when it came to logical thinking.  The man was 
some type of con artist or thief.  He spoke words much too elegant 
for a common robber, but he acted too reserved for a simple 
traveler.  Yes, there was definitely something more about this man 
than meets the eye.  Derek would keep that in mind.  The man did 
not necessarily present a danger, but he could definitely be 
dangerous.
	Hawk watched the two young men riding ahead of him.  They 
did not trust him, he knew that.  He could sense the feelings of the 
one just in front of him.  This one was upset, bordering on angry.  
Strange that he should feel the young man's emotions so strongly.  
Normally he would have to reach out his senses to perceive a 
persons feelings.  He shrugged it off to his heightened perception 
over the last few hours.
	Again he had narrowly escaped a planned attack on his 
person.  Lately, he had been using the skills learned years ago 
almost constantly.  He had focused his mind to the point where 
every unnatural move caused him to jerk.  After an hour of a 
constant nerve racking state, he let his mind and perception lower 
to where he now rode with ease and assured they were in no 
immediate danger.  This led him to thoughts about his charges.
	Somehow in the next two days he would earn the trust of these 
two young men.  He did not know why, but he wanted them to 
trust him, or at least not to fear him.  He ascribed this feeling to a 
desire of acceptance.  Being a loner, he rarely met a family like the 
Kempter's.  If the group at the Fur Trade crossed his path and 
presented a danger to his companions they would be sorry.  This 
remained highly doubtful, though.  Bojax Freed and Roshay 
Kempter would most likely send them to Rorshauk or Barren.  
That meant he could concern himself less about a confrontation 
and perhaps teach the boys some travel skills once they reached the 
highway to Gahlen.
	After about an hour, the rain lightened to a drizzle.  In the 
next, it had stopped completely, but the wind kept the traveler's 
cloaks pulled tight and hoods up.  They had made it to Gahlen 
Highway and could see a flicker of light from Crossroads Inn 
several miles to the west.  Pahl's mood immediately perked up and 
he goaded his horse into a brisk walk, passing Derek.
	"Slow up there, Pahl," said Derek, "the horses are tired."
	"No more cold and tired than we are," Pahl responded.
	Derek laughed at this, urging his mare to meet his brother's 
pace. For Hawk, this was not difficult.  He had been holding back 
the stallion; its gait being much longer than the other two.  A 
normal walk was all it took to stay even.
	At the quickened pace the three riders made good time to the 
Inn.  They roused the stable boy, had their horsed tended to, and 
headed quickly to the front doors of the Inn.  Above the two large 
doors hung a sign that swayed in the wind.  It read, "Crossroads."  
Hawk pulled open the door to the Inn and led the boys into the 
smoke filled dining area that normally played the part of reception 
area at roadside lodges.
	Derek and Pahl were both surprised to see so many other 
travelers sitting at tables drinking ale and smoking pipes at this late 
hour.  Hawk showed them special hooks next to the stone hearth 
where they could hang their soggy cloaks.  There, they would dry 
out nicely allowing them warm dry clothes in which to continue 
their trip.  He led them to an empty table and they sat down 
heavily.
	"What a ride," remarked Pahl.  "I don't think I've been this 
cold since I fell into Silver Lake last winter."  He smiled boyishly, 
which made a stark contrast to the scowl he held on the trail.  He 
rubbed his hands together enjoying the warmth emanating from the 
hearth several feet away.
	A serving woman stopped at their table with two ale mugs in 
her hand.  "What'll it be, gents?"  She asked.  "A stay and a dry is 
two coppers each, which includes brushing down your horses.  If 
you like a room for the three of you, that'll cost ya two silvers for 
the night with breakfast come morn'."  She shifted one mug to her 
empty hand, waiting for a response.
	"We'll dry, thank you," answered Hawk, "and a round of ale, 
if you please."
	"Right away, sir," she said, leaving the three to drop mugs off 
at nearby table.
	"Aren't we staying?"  Asked Pahl incredulously.
	"No," was Hawk's response.
	"Why not?  I mean, we might as well head back in the 
morning.  Two silvers is a fair price, besides, where are we..."
	"We're not staying because your father doesn't expect me to 
use the money he gave on a nice Inn room," Hawk cut him off.  
"Besides, I intend on showing you how to make a roadside bed."
	"That's just great!"  Pahl slumped in his chair.
	"Pahl, Father said to meet him in Gahlen.  I think we should 
go there."  Derek's forthrightness eased Pahl's temper.  "We need a 
summer's end adventure anyway, right?"
	Pahl smiled at this.  "Sure, who knows, we might battle those 
warriors again."
	"Keep your voice down," admonished Hawk.  Through the 
hazy room he looked at the other guests.  There were eleven others 
at tables scattered throughout the room.  All intent on their own 
drinks or conversations, but Hawk didn't want any prying ears to 
start trouble.  The serving woman arrived with the ale and Hawk 
handed her a silver piece.  "Just remember," he continued quietly, 
"until we get to Gahlen, we must take this trek seriously.  We are 
not far from the Southern border and times have changed in 
Nordenland, especially in this part of the kingdom."  Hawk went 
on to explain just how dangerous it was on the open roads of late,  
how caravans of goods would never be without armed guards, and 
very few traveled alone.
	"But you travel alone," countered Pahl grinning.
	Hawk returned a wry smile, "Yes, and look what happened to 
me.  You must understand, Pahl, in this very room there could be 
any number of outlaws waiting to hear our destination so they can 
ambush us."
	The boys shook their heads in understanding, but both thought 
their older companion was being a bit over cautious, making  
Derek wonder.  "What about you, Hawk, what, or should I say who 
was chasing you at Silver Lake?"
	Hawk sat back raising his eyebrows. Both brothers had heard 
the explanation given to their family.  He clasped his hands 
together, interlocking his fingers and resting them on the table.  He 
looked directly at Derek, measuring the weight of his question.  
Derek met his gaze and after a moment dropped his eyes.
	"I know what you told my family, but Pahl and I were both 
there," continued Derek.  He looked around the room carefully, 
then quietly added, "Either you stole something from them, or they 
are hunting you on an act of vengeance.  Either way you are not 
exactly the road companion I would feel comfortable traveling 
with."
	Reaching out with his senses, Hawk studied the boy for a 
time.  There was no mockery or contempt in what Derek had said.  
In fact, Hawk felt sure that the boy was barely able to speak so 
boldly, for fear of offending him.
	"You have spoken honestly and with courage, Derek," Hawk 
said, his eyes boring into the Fur Trader's son.  "For that you 
deserve what answers I can give you."  He related the earlier 
attacks and his opinion of them, how it was not until the third 
attack that he knew something was wrong.
	Two guests at a table near them got up and went toward their 
rooms.  They appeared to be a man and wife.  Hawk fell silent 
while they passed and then continued his narration.  "After leaving 
Gahlen, and a tavern there in shambles, I thought to go up to 
Kreuz.  I still hadn't gotten the winter supplies I needed, but I 
didn't want to stay in Gahlen and Kreuz wasn't all that far."
	The story entranced the boys, but Pahl spoke up, "Why didn't 
you go to the Constable then?"
	"Actually, I hadn't really thought about it," replied Hawk.  "I 
assumed the foreigners were friends of the prior thieves and since I 
was heading north I didn't think they would follow me.  When I 
arrived in Kreuz I found out differently.
	"Shortly after entering the lumber town I overheard two 
woodsmen talking about strangers who were seeking the 
whereabouts of a black clad traveler.  They could only have been 
referring to me.  I led my mule to a storehouse, bought provisions, 
and left immediately.
	"About a mile out of town I heard riders galloping behind me.  
I left the road and went into the forest.  No stranger to the 
woodland I was able to lose them despite their horses and tracker.  
They did catch up to me once while setting a trap and I was forced 
into combat with two of them.  I suffered sword wounds from that 
and later, because of my injuries, I was spotted  in the open and 
took a crossbow bolt in the leg.  The rest you know about."
	Their mouths hung half way open, the boys stared at Hawk 
with new found admiration.  They couldn't understand why the 
warriors were after him or who they were, but that was irrelevant.  
Their boyhood yarns of outlaw and brigand came alive in this 
enigmatic man.  Someone who lived the games that they only 
dreamed.
	"So, what will you do once we reach Gahlen?"  Derek asked, 
genuinely curious.  The serving woman returned to their table to 
refill their mugs.  Hawk ordered some hard bread and sent her 
away with thanks.
	"After Gahlen I will go west to visit my old master, I think."
	"Then you are a Retter!"  Pahl said excitedly.  "I thought you 
were after the-"
	"I am not," Hawk cut him off sternly.  "I have some 
knowledge and skills used by the followers of Light, but I am no 
Retter."
	This brought a barrage of questions from both Pahl and Derek, 
who had fantastic images of the Retter, mostly stories or fables told 
to them by their mothers.  Hawk would not elaborate, however.  
Soon their bread arrived and their conversation degenerated to 
silence.
	As they ate, Hawk reflected again on his decision to return to 
the Keep.  It had been ten years since he had left, and had not 
returned.  Though he would never admit it, it was a matter of pride 
that kept him away.  He had once studied the ways of the Path with 
an old Retter named Jeshur Baerd, when he was orphaned at the 
age of eleven.  Jeshur had been somewhat of an Uncle to Hawk 
before Hawk's parents died of malaria.  It was a natural transition 
for him to live with Jeshur when the other offered.
	Jeshur taught him the names of plants, trees, vegetation and 
their usage, the animals of the forest, letters and numbers, and 
times and seasons.  At some point in their lives, most children in 
the Kingdom learn something of the Light of the Path as a way of 
living.  Hawk was no different until he lived with Jeshur, a change 
that affected him dramatically.  Jeshur taught Hawk the deeper 
doctrine of the purpose, sanctity, and preservation of life, weaving 
the belief that a Retter lives by into his lessons, and introducing the 
power a Retter wields for good purposes.  All of these thoughts 
brought good memories and feelings to Hawk.  Such good feelings, 
he had to force himself to bring forth memories that led him to 
leave the Keep.  Memories of unworthiness and shame.
	So deep was Hawk into his own thoughts, he did not notice 
the boys get up and leave.  When he looked up from staring at his 
bread they were gone.  Quickly scanning the room he found them 
by the hearth, checking their cloaks.  He watched them speak 
amongst themselves and smiled at their eager youthfulness.  The 
serving woman came out from the back and Hawk caught her 
attention with a wave of his hand.
	"Do you have an over flow at this Inn,"  he asked.  He was 
referring to the area an Inn uses for sleeping quarters when all the 
rooms are filled.  An innkeeper would rent this area at a 
significantly lower rate.  Hawk knew that all Inns had them, but his 
question really asked, `will you let us use it when all of your rooms 
aren't full?'
	"Yes," she answered.  "Since it is such a late hour, you can all 
stay there for one silver.  that will include breakfast and a bath."
	Giving her the silver piece, Hawk got up to get the boys.
	"It's through the double doors in the back.  Just take a pillow 
and blanket from the wall rack."
	"Thank you," Hawk said over his shoulder.  He walked to 
where the boys were and told them of his decision to stay.  Leading 
them to the overflow, he showed them where the sleeping materials 
were.  The area of an Inn's overflow is normally a hard wood floor 
with no windows.  When guests crowd an inn, the overflow can get 
very uncomfortable, because everyone must make room on the 
floor to sleep.  Fortunately for the three tired travelers this was not 
the case; they were the only ones in the overflow and had ample 
space to lay their mats and blankets comfortably.  Crossroads Inn's 
overflow had a small window in one corner, but with the door 
closed the room was virtually black, putting the three companions 
quickly to sleep.
	Sunlight shining through the window woke Pahl up with a 
start.  He sat up and ran his right hand through his hair. Yawning, 
he rubbed his eyes and looked up, out the small window.  It was a 
bright day, the sun shining on the trees behind the Inn made him 
feel good.  Pahl got up and shook Derek, who groggily awoke.  
Pahl looked to where Hawk should have been and was not 
surprised to find his blanket and mat folded and placed back on the 
shelf.  He assumed Hawk had eaten and bathed already.
	The two brothers folded and placed their sleeping materials up 
on the shelf next to Hawk's and walked out into the dining area..  
They noticed Hawk coming in from the double doors and crossed 
the room to meet him.  He instructed them to eat and take a quick 
bath while he prepped the horses for travel.  Feeling ravished from 
the night's excitement, they devoured their food with fervor, then 
quickly bathed and dressed.
	Refreshed from their sleep, breakfast, and bath, the boys were 
anxious to be on the road toward Gahlen.  This was a new day and 
any disconsolate feelings from the previous night were long 
forgotten when they walked out of the inn into a sunny fall 
morning.  
	Hawk was waiting for them atop the large stallion leading the 
two mares.  With both mares brushed and bridled Hawk handed 
their reins to his young companions.  The boys mounted and the 
three started down the well-traveled dirt highway toward Gahlen.  
The dirt was soft and in some parts muddy, but still easily 
traversed.
	They had barely left sight of the inn when Hawk mentioned, 
"We could easily ride back to Aubon, and likely have no troubles, 
but I have need of going quickly to Gahlen and thought I would 
teach you some outdoor skills along the way."  He spoke matter-
of-factly, without emotion.
	"Sounds great to me," said Derek.
	"Me too," echoed Pahl.
	"Good, I am grateful for your enthusiasm.  We will start 
immediately then."  Hawk drew his horse up short.  "How many 
travelers left before we did this morning?"  The boys looked at 
him, back at the inn, then down the trail.
	"I would guess four or five," ventured Pahl.
	Derek looked at the wet dirt and mud on the trail, trying to 
pick out the few tracks engraved there.  "Looks like a couple of 
horses and a wagon,"  he said, "maybe two wagons."
	"Only two horses left before us," said Hawk.
	"But there are more tracks than that..." Derek started.
	"Yes there are," agreed Hawk, "but let me show you 
something."  He climbed down from the stallion and the others 
followed.  Walking a few steps away from the horses and kneeling 
down he motioned the two boys to him.  When they were next to 
him he continued.
	"Look at the tracks closely."  He pointed to the edge of a horse 
hoof imprint imbedded next to the line imprint made by a wagon.  
"This is a print of a quarter horse pulling a light wagon Eastward, 
possibly to Barren.  Notice the mud pushed up at the front and the 
light imprint in back.  That is how you tell direction.  Most of these 
prints point east.  On closer examination, you can group the prints 
and know who traveled with whom."  He moved over to the left.  
"Like here.  We have a goat, see the small hoof and light cleft and 
with it, a pony and two dogs."
	The boys looked on, amazed and exhilarated with these 
tracking lessons.  They had been taught hunting techniques, but not 
for open road or for humans.  Hawk described a group, possibly a 
family with a wagon, children, and three adults on foot traveled by 
the previous evening in the storm.  He progressed to explain all the 
tracks, directions, and possible loads of each of the previous 
travelers in impressive detail.
	"But Hawk,"  interrupted Pahl, during an extensive discourse 
on the difference between a woman's boot print and a man's.  
"You said only two people left before us, yet you have noted more 
than ten are going west?"  He looked at Hawk with a smirk that 
said, `try to explain that one.'
	"Yes, only two left the inn before us this morning, these others 
were made during the night and some of the lighter, washed out 
ones, yesterday."
	"How can you tell the difference?"  Asked Derek.
	"Usually by the depth and clarity of the print,"  answered 
Hawk, "But that's not how I know."
	"Then how do you know?"  Pahl asked, wishing he would 
dispense with the indirect answers.
	"I asked the stable boy before we left."
	"That's not skill!"  Exclaimed Pahl.
	"On the contrary, it is," Hawk retorted.  "Probably the best 
and most useful skill there is."  He stood up and climbed back into 
his saddle.  "You will find most of the information you need and 
want from a simple source;  a lonely person eager for company.  
And remember, to know who is in front of you on the road can be 
very important."  He kicked his horse into a walk and explained as 
he had the night before about brigands and the like on the 
highways of late.
	Hawk never told the boys who the two travelers ahead of them 
were.  He was not sure himself, but felt a trifle concerned.  The 
stable boy had said they were rough men who admonished him to 
keep quiet and prepare their horses quickly.  The boy had told 
Hawk that these men left an hour before sunrise.  This worried 
him.  Normally, someone staying overnight at an inn would make 
full use of the facilities and not leave early thereby wasting their 
money.  Also, the prints in the mud of the two men's horses were 
only an hour old at the latest.  This meant that either they were 
waiting for someone or saw the three coming and decided to go on.  
Hawk resolved to keep a wary eye on the road and the surrounding 
trees and brush.
	As the three walked along the highway, Hawk pointed out 
various nuances to the boys.  He showed them direction by the 
moss growing at the base of the pines, and edible berries and roots.  
The boys were aware of some of these techniques, having been 
taught them when they learned to hunt, but Hawk showed them a 
perspective of someone well traveled and knowledgeable of the 
land.
	Just under two hours after leaving the inn, the three riders 
rounded a bend and saw four men a hundred yards up the road.  
Two of the men sat in a wagon being pulled by a pair of horses.  
The men in the wagon began riding west in the direction of 
Gahlen, while the other two sat watching the three travelers 
approach.  Both of them wore heavy clothing with long straggly 
hair held in check with headbands.  One smoked a black pipe, 
sending small puffs of white into the morning air, while the other 
sat motionless.  Hawk slowed the stallion to stop, the boys 
stopping on either side of him sixty yards from where the two 
horsemen were.
	"Hallo there," called out the one of the men.
	Hawk raised his hand in a half salute, acknowledging the 
man's call.  He kicked his horse into a walk, continuing to where 
the two men positioned themselves.  Hawk looked closely at the 
men, measuring their intent and demeanor.  They appeared to be 
average travelers with all the belongings of someone heavily on the 
road, but their mannerisms gave more of a wary appearance than 
their smiles portrayed.  They looked ruff and travel worn and 
Hawk guessed that they were either vagabonds or waylanders.  He 
could not see any weapons, but they wore thick cloaks that might 
hide any number of deadly arms.  He could not believe that either 
of these men were pilgrims or harmless travelers. 
	"Can we be of assistance,"  Hawk asked warily.  He had 
stopped further than necessary from these men placing some 
distance between them.  Pahl and Derek  remained silent, unsure of 
Hawk's caution.
	"Actually, yes," replied the man with the pipe, giving his 
auburn haired companion a nod.  He held the pipe in his left hand 
and gestured with his right, pointing in a south-western fashion.  
"We are traveling to Yamet border town, and would appreciate 
some company, if you know what I mean."  He gave Hawk slight 
wink.
	Hawk knew exactly what he portrayed to mean.  Yamet was a 
ruff trading town between the kingdom of Nordenland and the 
Southern Clan and Baron communities.  More trades would be 
finalized by a fight than any other form of agreement.  Hawk 
suspected these men knew he would not be going to this town with 
two young men who looked like they rarely, if ever traveled 
abroad.  He guessed that the pipe smoker meant to imply they 
wanted to increase their numbers to add safety to the journey.  But 
these men were hardly the type to ask others to defend them.  
Hawk waited.
	The man with the pipe shuffled slightly at the lack of 
response.  "What I mean to say is, would you be going in that 
direction?  The men you saw just leave were on their way there, 
but didn't want company.  Can you believe that?  Not wanting 
company to Yamet?"  He said the last with over emphasized 
incredulous.
	"No, we're not going to Yamet.  Dangerous town, and we 
don't have anything worth trading.."
	"A shame,"  said the man, his voice carrying an awkward 
accent.  "That's a nice stallion you have there, though.  Looks 
southern, maybe from the Benkeek area.  Would fetch a good price 
in Yamet.  I could help you sell it there, for a minor finder�s fee."
	"I appreciate the offer,"  said Hawk, "but the stallion is not 
mine to sell."  He knew the man was poorly trying to gain 
information from them, and that this could only mean trouble.  
"Good luck to you in Yamet."  He shook the stallion's reins in an 
effort to continue up the road.
	The auburn haired man who had not spoken moved his horse 
into the middle of the road blocking Hawk.  His companion 
holding the pipe gestured with his free hand, "Hold friend, perhaps 
we could simply travel with you to the cut off road?" His voice 
took on a hard edge leaving no false image that this was not a 
question.  This made the Derek and Pahl shuffle uncomfortably on 
their horses.  They looked at one another afraid to distract Hawk.
	Hawk did not fear these men, but rather feared any danger to 
his companions.  His brow narrowed and he spoke with a 
commanding tone, slightly raising two fingers of his right hand and 
moving them from left to right, "Turn aside, friend, we wish to 
travel alone." 
	 The two men exchanged cautious glances and the one with 
the pipe chuckled uneasily, then said, "Sure, I understand the need 
for privacy.  Just tryin' to make friendly conversation is all."  The 
rider who had moved to the middle of the road now backed his 
horse to the edge, next to his friend.  Both of them stared warily at 
Hawk, a mix of frustration and wonder etched onto their faces.
	Not pausing or speaking, Hawk led down the road without 
looking back.  When they came around the next bend Hawk turned 
to the boys, "We are going to have to watch our backs now.  Those 
men did not want to travel with us for the pleasure of it.  They are 
waylanders, possibly Sojourns, but they didn't fit the description of 
the Sojourns I have met."
	"Why are they alone if they are Sojourns?"  Asked Pahl.  "I 
mean, I thought Sojourns traveled in large caravans, at least the 
ones I have seen do."
	"And they are usually wearing bright red or purple clothing 
aren't they?"  Added Derek.
	"Yes, they are normally dressed in gaudy outfits, and they do 
travel in large family type groups."  Answered Hawk.  "But, 
sometimes they send out scouts or finders, as they call them, to 
seek the unwary or unfortunate traveler."
	Pahl looked somewhat taken aback, "I know Sojourns are not 
well liked, but I didn't think that they were thieves."
	"Not all of them are, Pahl.  Some make an honest living from 
trading Southern and Northern goods, but most either swindle the 
unwise or outright steal from anyone they claim is intruding on 
their domain.  And some send out these finders, who collect 
information and report back to the main camp about easy prey.  
These are the most dangerous for they plan and execute their way 
of life with professional precision."  Hawk noticed that his 
listeners' eyes had widened and he toned down his narrative so as 
not to frighten his companions.  He explained the life of a Sojourn 
as he understood it.  That they traveled in groups consisting of 
brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles who never really 
professed to be Northern Kingdom citizens or citizens of any 
country.  They lived in Nordenland along the southern border, 
always traveling up and down the border, never really venturing 
deeply south or north.  That is all he really knew since he had only 
traded with them twice and usually lived far north.
	Throughout the remainder of the day several Eastern caravans 
passed by and shared short conversations with Hawk and the boys.  
Most of the exchange had centered on weather and road conditions.  
The weather was warm but not hot with the sky clear except for an 
occasional cloud, the road was not muddy like the night before and 
the boys found themselves enjoying the ride once they had 
forgotten the uncomfortable meeting earlier that morning.  Hawk, 
on the other hand,  did not forget the two men and systematically 
looked over his shoulder from time to time, searching for the 
waylanders he knew must be back there.
	As the sun dipped behind the horizon to the west Hawk began 
to wonder if the men had actually followed them this far.  They 
had passed the turn off that led to Yamet over five hours ago and 
had met with several eastern travelers as well as small caravan 
coming from Yamet and going to Gahlen.  This caravan was two or 
three hours behind them now and would notice the two men if they 
were acting suspiciously.  Also, they had passed a number of 
turnoffs to different locations that the men would be unsure which 
one Hawk and the boys might have taken.  Unless these men were 
excellent trackers, they would never be able to sift through the 
muddled tracks crisscrossing the Highway.  Still, Hawk's inner 
sense told him to be wary, and it was this sense that had kept him 
alive during the most recent part of his life.
	Dusk turned to darkness and Hawk dismounted leading his 
horse off the road and over to a clearing.  The boys wearily led 
their horses to the clearing eager to rest after the hard days travel.  
It had been some time since either of the boys had traveled so far in 
one day and they welcomed the needed break.  The group were still 
at least ten miles west of Gahlen and were just now seeing some 
the distant flickering lights of the local suburban farm houses.  
Hawk decided to make camp where they were and finish the trip in 
the morning.
	Tying the horses to some nearby branches the boys brushed 
them down and untied the travel bags from the stallion. They ate a 
meager meal and laid out their cloaks for sleeping mats.  Hawk 
showed the boys how to strike a fire with root fiber twisted into 
twine and wrapped around two sticks.  By stacking hard to find dry 
leaves together and wrapping the twine around a dry branch he 
pulled the other two branches back and forth causing friction on 
middle branch.  Soon the branch was smoking and by blowing on 
it he starting the dry leaves burning.  For the next ten minutes the 
boys mimicked this technique and started small fires that they 
quickly put out; one fire was enough for their camp.  Pleased with 
their accomplishment they rolled up their fire starters and lay down 
on the soft earth. It was not long before the boys were quickly 
asleep.
	Hawk sat with his back to the fire, staring east along the 
highway.  He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was out 
there just beyond his sight.  For several minutes he just stared 
unmoving into the darkness, then thinking he was being over 
cautious on such a widely traveled road he lay down pulling his 
cloak over his shoulder.  Hawk was a light sleeper and knew that 
his senses would wake him should the need arise.  With that in 
mind he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
	A crunching of branches brought Hawk instantly awake. 
Though distant, his outdoor instincts told him that the sound did 
not belong to any forest animal.  He peered out into the darkness, 
searching vainly for movement, but there was none.  Where 
another might have thought they mistakenly heard something and 
quickly dismissed it, Hawk did not.  He knew that someone, or 
something was stocking them and he would not be taken 
unprepared.  Pulling off the cloak that covered him, Hawk  rolled 
into a crouch in the chill night air.  The fire had burned down to 
embers shedding a soft orange glow against the foliage.
	Quite as a cat Hawk moved away from the light into the 
darkness of a nearby group of trees.  There he waited and watched.  
Now fully awake he flexed his arms and legs to loosen them, 
preparing himself for whoever waited just outside his vision.  For 
several long minutes he waited and watched, but nothing appeared 
and only the normal sounds of the night echoed through the trees.  
Hawk looked to where the boys slept soundly, again wondering if 
he was being too hasty with his decisions.  Thinking that he was 
bordering on paranoia he walked out of the trees back to the camp.
	As he walked he heard noises in the distance again.  He froze, 
looking in the direction of the sound and listening with every fiber 
of his being.  The sound was moving away.  It was footsteps 
crunching quietly through pine needles about one hundred fifty 
yards across the road to the Northeast.  Hawk didn't hesitate, 
abandoning any semblance of stealth he bolted across the clearing, 
out onto the road and into the brush on the opposite side, all the 
while listening to his prey grow louder in its escape.
	The chase was on and after a few minutes Hawk chastened 
himself for not untying the stallion  Already his right leg was 
burning where the wound had not fully healed.  He had to slow to a 
jog and then a walk as he brushed branches and foliage out of his 
way in an attempt to catch the infiltrator.  He finally stopped and 
listened.  He could hear the escapee still running, crunching 
through the forest, but now the sound was further away.  Hawk 
cursed, thinking himself foolish for trying to outrun someone in the 
middle of the night in his weakened condition.
	Then he cursed again for not thinking clearly.  He had not 
called on any of the arts he had used for years in these situations.   
He had acted blindly and foolishly in an attempt to catch a night 
stranger.  Checking his bearings against the moon lit forest floor he 
headed south to Gahlen highway.  When he reached the highway 
he realized his quarry had led him almost straight north with a 
slight turn east of his camp.  It surprised him to learn that he had 
traveled almost a mile into the dense forest.
	Walking back along the highway Hawk thought about this late 
night chase.  What had caused him to madly run into the forest 
without regard to what he found there?  He discovered not 
surprisingly that it was his need to know what tracked him.  Who 
or what it was that wanted him.  He was growing tired of running 
away and wanted answers to his questions about the southern 
warrior.  He doubted that the person he chased had any connection 
with the warrior, but he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to 
find out what he could.
	The entire walk back he felt an odd sense that something was 
wrong.  When he reached the camp these feelings were fully 
realized.  The fire was completely black, covered with dirt.  Hawk 
called for his companions and there was no answer. In the dim 
moon light he could see that the boys and all three horses were 
gone.  With new found remorse, Hawk shook his head in quite 
despair.

CHAPTER 5

	At first it appeared to Hawk that the thieves were really after 
the horses.  They had successfully led him away from the camp for 
this purpose and only captured the boys because they had not come 
with him.  But upon closer inspection he could see that the boys 
professionally bound and gagged, then the horses were taken.  This 
worried Hawk a great deal for only a ransomer or southern slaver 
would take the time to capture the person they robbed.
	Hawk was ill equipped to track the thieves during the night 
and physically unprepared to do so.  He debated with the idea of 
waiting for Roshay Kempter and Bojax Freed before undertaking 
the search, but discarded it quickly, knowing that if slavery was 
involved time was of the essence.  He also doubted that Roshay 
would do much good other than try to release his sons by force.  
He felt Bojax Freed would make a good ally if it came to a fight, 
but again could not wait for them to arrive.  He decided to start the 
search at first daylight.

**********

	Pahl woke up confused, in pain, and in darkness.  He didn't 
know where he was and struggled with the ropes binding his hands 
and feet. Recognizing he could not release himself, he tried to cry 
out only to find he could not with so much cloth stuffed into his 
mouth.  He shook his head, wincing  in pain from a blow he had 
received.  He shifted his weight, trying to get reasonably 
comfortable on the hard floor where he was lying.  The rocking 
motion and bumping told him he was probably in the back of some 
sort of wagon, riding on a rough road.  Stuffed into a large canvas 
bag, he felt claustrophobic and thinking he was suffocating began 
thrashing around in the back.
	Receiving a hard kick to the shoulder Pahl heard a gruff voice 
say, "Quit moving around boy, or I might just slit your throat and 
be done with it."  Fighting the phobia Pahl stopped moving and lay 
still.  He thought about Hawk and Derek and wondered if they 
were alive.	
	Unbeknownst to Pahl, Derek lay beside him, only a few feet to 
the rear.  He was bound, gagged and inside a canvas bag, as was 
Pahl, but he was still unconscious.  The wagon they were both 
riding in traveled quickly over the dirt road, a split off the main 
highway heading more south.  The men who had captured the 
horses and the boys had remained quiet and purposeful, fully aware 
that the boy's companion would take up an immediate search when 
he found them gone.  Now they relaxed, knowing that they had a 
great lead on the other if he was even able to follow their trail. 
	"I told you it would work, Targ," said the man next to the 
driver of the wagon.  He brought out a black pipe and stuffed 
tobacco into the end.  With flint and steel he lit the pipe and 
inhaled deeply.  "I knew the man in black would be easily tricked."
	"I think we should have taken him too, Sersh,"  said another 
man riding to the right of the wagon. "He would fetch a larger 
price on the market."
	"You weren't there when we met him," answered Sersh, 
taking the pipe from his mouth.  "There was something about him 
that I didn't like."
	Realizing who had taken him captive startled Pahl.  He 
couldn't hear their entire conversation, but the smell of the pipe 
and the mentioning of a man in black were enough.  He shuddered 
at the thought of these men following them all the way from 
Crossroads Inn.  What could they possibly want with Derek and 
him?  He could understand the stealing of the horses, but what 
good would kidnapping do them, besides a quick hanging if they 
were caught.  Pahl decided that whatever it was it wouldn't be 
enjoyable.  He must try to escape when possible.  He was sure it 
would not be difficult to get away once he someone released from 
the bag and untied him.  He was young, agile, and full of 
confidence.
	As the hours passed, Pahl's optimism waned.  He wasn't 
certain of the time, but knew that it must be nearing morning.  He 
had tried to go back to sleep, but the uncomfortable banging 
around of the wagon made rest nearly impossible.  At first it was 
difficult to breathe through his nose for such an extended period, 
but with practice, he was able to squelch the suffocating feeling 
that threatened to overwhelm him and he began to breathe more 
calmly.
	When the wagon finally came to a halt, light penetrated small 
cracks in the canvas that held Pahl.  Pahl heard voices among a 
cacophony of noises from a seemingly large camp.  He gave up 
trying to identify what he heard and where he was and simply 
wished someone would release him from the stuffy bag.  Ruff 
hands grabbed hold of him and he was carried for some distance 
and tossed in a heap on hard ground.  He heard the sound of 
something being tossed beside him and he struggled into a sitting 
position.
	The smell of cooked ham wafted thick in the air, penetrating 
the canvas surrounding Pahl.  His mouth watered against the 
dryness of the cloth and he was finally able to push the cloth with 
his jaws to loosen the constriction and allow him breathe more 
easily.
	Suddenly the bag that held him opened and strong hands 
roughly pulled him out.  He found himself inside a purple tent 
staring angrily at the two men he had met earlier on the highway.  
One of the men loosed the ropes on his wrists and ankles while the 
other untied and removed the gag in his mouth.  Pahl held still not 
saying anything.  The man who had earlier smoked a pipe placed a 
metal shackle on his right ankle.  The shackle was attached to a 
chain that hooked a stake buried in the  hard dirt.
	Pahl rubbed his swollen ankles, then massaged his wrists.  He 
looked back at the two men and watched them open the canvas bag 
lying next to him.  Derek fell out of the bag, still unconscious.  He 
had a cut on his left temple and his arms were bruised.  The men 
took no care in removing his bonds and they shackled his right leg 
in the same manner as Pahl's.
	"Keep quiet," ordered the man who had shackled Pahl's leg.  
"No one can here you here anyway, and unless you enjoy the 
mouth gags you'll not disturb the rest of the camp.  Someone will 
be in here shortly to feed you and dress your friends wounds.  
Don't give them any trouble or you will be sorry."
	The man's dark tone was in mark contrast to his smooth 
conversation from the previous day.  Pahl began to understand 
Hawk's caution of these men and his contempt for Sojourns.  He 
was almost certain they were in a Sojourn camp.  The loud, 
boisterous voices outside and the colors of the tent were two 
known traits of Sojourns.
	Pahl looked at his brother, hoping that he had not suffered any 
permanent damage.  He crawled to where Derek lay and found that 
the chain gave him ample room to do this.  First he checked the 
head wound and then the bruises on his arms.  He imagined the 
wounds were caused by him waking up during the capture.  After 
checking Derek over and seeing he couldn't wake him,  Pahl began 
testing the quality of the shackle hooked to his ankle.  The manacle 
was old, but made of cast iron and would need a chisel and 
hammer to remove without the key.  He then tried pulling the stake 
out of the ground, but found that it was driven deeply and would 
also require some kind of levering tool to displace.  With that he 
laid down and waited for the next visitor.
	 "Wake boy, wake."
	Pahl opened his eyes groggily to find a young girl pushing on 
his shoulder.  He did not remember falling asleep and starting to 
stand.  When he realized where he was he sat back down.  The girl 
had backed away and placed a plate of oatmeal in front of Pahl.  
She had tan skin and dark, almost black hair that she had tied into a 
long barrette.  She had many bright ribbons of various colors 
woven through the barrette.  She wore bright red pants a violet 
shirt, and deep red knee high boots.  The contrast in colors amazed 
Pahl and  he smiled at the girl.
	"Do you find me attractive,"  she said in a mock sultry voice.
	Pahl tried to keep from laughing.  The girl was pretty in her 
own right, but she had misread what he was thinking.  He had 
smiled because the odd situation he was in and the clothes the girl 
wore made a humoristic picture.  
	"You make fun of me do you?  Well, I am not the one chained 
like a dog.  We will see who laughs later farm boy."  She stared at 
him with evident contempt, arms folded across her chest and head 
tilted back.
	"No, I am not making fun of you, " Pahl tried.  "I have never 
seen clothes like yours."
	"And..."
	"And they are bright and cheerful,"  Pahl continued lamely.
	"Yes, they are,"  She said smugly.  "And that is why I wear 
them.  Now, I bring you food and bandage for your friend.  Eat the 
food.  It gets cold.  I will see to your friend."  She knelt down 
where Derek lay and pulled out a white cloth from a small satchel.
	"Actually, he is my brother," said Pahl and immediately 
wondered if he should have divulged that information.
	"Your brother?"  She asked skeptically.  "He looks not like  
your brother."  She first poured some water on his head wound 
cleaning it, then started wrapping the wound making a head band.
	"Well, we aren't actually blood brothers,"  Pahl clarified.
	"Yes, I understand.  It is a lot like my peoples.  We are 
considered a family unit, though not all are relatives."
	"You are a Sojourn then?"  Pahl asked.  He began eating the 
warm meal and felt much better.
	"It is enough talk for now,"  She said.  "I will return later to 
check on your brother.  Perhaps I will talk to you then.  The 
Patriarch may wish to speak to you then, as well."  She turned and 
left the tent.  Pahl finished his breakfast, thinking about the 
peculiar girl.   He noted her accent.  It was rich, warm, and full of 
life, and he took a liking to this, despite his current predicament.  
He wondered for a moment who the Patriarch might be, deciding 
he was probably some sort of leader in the camp.
	For the next hour Pahl waited for the girl to return all the 
while testing the limits of his confinement and checking on his 
brother.  He found that he could not reach the edges of the tent, but 
he could move five feet in any direction.  The tent he was in was 
empty except for the constraints and it was difficult to tell what 
time it was, however, from what he could see it appeared to be 
almost noon.
	Pahl was lying back staring at the ceiling when he heard his 
brother moan.  He looked over to see him sitting up feeling the 
bandage around his head.  "What is going on, Pahl?"  Derek asked 
drowsily.  "Why is everything purple?"
	"We have been taken by a group of Sojourns,"  Pahl said.  
"Two of which are the same men we met this yesterday morning 
by Crossroads Inn."  As an afterthought he added, "The tent is 
purple that's why there is a purple glow in here."  Pahl crawled to 
where Derek was sitting and looked closely at his bandage.  "Are 
you feeling all right, you were out for a long time."
	Derek nodded affirmatively.  "I feel a little dizzy though."
	"Maybe you should lie down for a while then.  Use my coat 
for a pillow."  Pahl had removed his coat earlier for that purpose 
and handed to Derek.
	"Thanks."
	"Actually, I'm surprised they didn't steal this too, even though 
it is old."
	Derek lay back slowly.  "It's probably not bright and colorful 
enough for them."
	Pahl stifled a laugh.  "You seem to find humor at every 
occasion, Derek 
	"Every chance I get," Derek agreed.  He put his hands behind 
his head and closed his eyes.  "So what of Hawk?"
	Pahl looked about absently. "I'm not sure.  When we were 
taken, I was asleep and they had me bound and bagged before I 
saw anything."
	"Do you think they killed him?"
	Pahl turned his attention to Derek.  "Maybe, I doubt it though.  
I mean, they were rough on us but could have easily killed us if 
they wanted too, so why kill Hawk?"
	"I don't know, maybe they have ties with those warriors."
	The tent flap opening interrupted the rest of their conversation.  
The girl that had brought Pahl breakfast walked into the tent and 
closed the flap.  She moved over in front of Pahl.
	"I return as promised," she said, winking at Pahl.  This 
brought a questioning look from Derek and Pahl's face flushed.
	Pahl stood up and Derek tried to, but nausea over took him 
and he remained in a sitting position.  "Where are the two men 
who captured us?"  Asked Pahl.  "Isn't it dangerous for you to be 
alone in here with us?"  The last was said with a hint of sarcasm.
	"I am the caretaker for sla...guests once they are in our camp,"  
she said.  "They tend to relax more around me."  She gave Pahl a 
sensuous look that made him blush even more.  "As for danger..." 
Almost quicker than the eye could follow a deadly knife appeared 
in her hand, and just as quickly was returned to a concealed place.
	"I am quite capable of handling myself,"  she said with a 
wicked grin.
	Both boys looked at each other astonished.  Derek composed  
himself first.  "Do you always treat guests with shackles?"
	"You may sit," she said to Pahl.  Pahl sat down, crossing his 
legs and the girl did likewise several feet in front of him, then 
directed her attention to Derek.  "You are lucky that you are alive.  
Sersh is not one to take prisoners when someone treads on our 
land."
	Derek rolled his eyes.  Either this girl was ignorant or had a 
grossly warped sense of reality,  "We were camped peacefully next 
to Gahlen highway in the Kingdom of Nordenland.  We are 
Nordenlanders."
	"You were on our property,"  she repeated hotly.
	"How can you..."
	"Look," Pahl interrupted quickly, "we're sorry that we 
accidentally camped in your territory.  My name is Pahl and this is 
my brother Derek.  Thank you for the food and bandages.  I am 
sure Derek is hungry.  Could you bring him something?"
	"I am called Ti Anniomi,"  The girl replied to Pahl.  "You 
may call me Tia."  She gave Derek a dark look, then smiled back at 
Pahl, "I will bring something for your brother."  She got up and 
turned to leave.
	"Tia,"  Pahl said stopping her.  "What will happen to us?"
	"That is for the Patriarch to decide,"  she replied and Pahl 
noticed a hint of resignation in her voice.  Turning, she opened the 
tent flap and left.  Pahl and Derek both tried to look through the 
flap as she left, but could not distinguish anything.
	Derek looked disgusted.  "That girl is crazy, Pahl.  We have 
got to get out of here."  He began pulling at the shackle on his 
ankle.
	"It won't come off, and I already tried the stake.  We are stuck 
here Derek.  Maybe we can convince Tia to release us."
	Derek shook his head dismally.  "I seriously doubt that.  She 
is a cunning little thief, Pahl.  She is playing games with us."
	"How do you know?"  Asked Pahl defensively.
	Derek stared at Pahl exasperated.  "Do you really believe she 
thought we had tread on their land.  Please."
	"No, not really, but what else could she say?"
	"Come on, Pahl, she is pretty and I can understand the 
attraction, but the first chance we get, we're outta here."
	"I know,"  Pahl agreed.  "I just kinda feel sorry for her, is all."
	Reaching over and patting him on the shoulder, Derek 
remarked, "I know, but there will be plenty of time to feel sorry 
when we're free."
	A short time later Tia returned and offered the food to Derek 
who thanked her despairingly.  She smiled at Pahl and talked to 
him briefly about inconsequential things and then left.  Derek 
devoured the food and then he and Pahl began working on his 
ankle shackle with no success.  The rest of the day went uneventful 
until the evening when the glow of torches reflected off the tents 
and Pahl and Derek could hear music, laughter and dancing.
	At one point Tia opened the flap of the tent and offered the 
boys a meager dinner and some cheap wine.  Pahl asked what the 
celebration was for and Tia said that the camp celebrated every 
night for a week to usher in the fall.  She asked Pahl in detail about 
Aubon and Silver Lake.  Pahl was glad to answer her inquisitive 
questions that reminded him of his little sister Tania and made him 
forget his current situation.  Although Tia was warm to Pahl, Derek 
could not help but to think she was solely trying to gain 
information from them, for what purpose he could only guess.  He 
sat back and listened, keeping his distance.  Tia soon left to rejoin 
her family and the young men lay down to sleep.   
	The next morning Tia brought the brothers some breakfast and 
sat down to eat with them.  She asked Pahl if he had slept well and 
he answered, "As well as someone chained to a stake can sleep."
	"I am sorry,"  Tia said and sounded as if she meant it.  "I wish 
that it could be different.  I do find your accent cute, Pahl."
	"Then why not release us,"  said Derek.
	"I am sorry Pahl, but I cannot," she said rather sadly.  "I am 
Sojourn, it is tradition to follow the Patriarch and I may not leave, 
nor durst I disobey lest I jeopardize my standing in the family."
	"But.."  Derek started.
	"We understand," said Pahl.  "I too wish that we had met 
differently."
	They finished their meal in silence and Tia took the plates.  
She gave a new bandage to Derek and left.  The rest of the morning 
the boys talked about how they might escape, but neither could 
think of a substantial plan.  In the afternoon they tried learn what 
caused the commotion in the camp.
	Outside, the Sojourn camp was a mass of activity.  The camp 
consisted of twenty to thirty tents varying in size, shape and color.  
Several men and boys worked at taking down and wrapping a 
number of tents.  They would fold them into large squares and 
place them on mule drawn wagons.  The stakes, ropes, and poles 
lay stacked and placed in wood crates.  In the center of the camp 
surrounded by rocks was a large circular fire pit.  A number of 
women basted a boar as it roasted on a metal rod and wafts of 
smoke from sizzling juices spewed forth from the pit.  Other 
women set out eating utensils and plates for the upcoming dinner.
	Moving about the camp barking orders to underlings was the 
Patriarch.  A large dark skinned man nearing forty years, he 
commanded and others immediately carried out his directions.  He 
dressed more flamboyantly than most, with his hair tied back in a 
pony tail and his head covered by a purple, large brimmed hat that 
sported two red feathers.  Scars on his face that made him ugly, 
despite the bright clothing, and two fingers missing from his left 
hand added to the picture that this was a dangerous man.  His dark 
eyes scanned the workings of his camp in the manner of a 
commander, resting on an approaching rider.
	A young man came into the camp on horseback and 
dismounted next to the Patriarch.  He wore forest brown and green 
garb and a brown cap.  He took off his cap and bowed low.  
"Father," he said in the formal address given to a Sojourn 
Patriarch, "a man dressed in black is coming up the path.  He will 
be here in a few minutes."
	The Patriarch turned and shouted, "Sersh! Targ!"  He then 
turned back to the young man.  "Retrieve a crossbow from the 
weapons tent and position yourself in the covered wagon by the 
path.  Do not shoot unless I remove my hat."
	"Yes, sir!" 
	Two men came out of a brown tent to the Patriarch's left and 
walked over to him.  They dipped their heads and Sersh asked, 
"Father, what order?"
	"The new slaves' guardian, the man in black, has arrived 
sooner than expected.  I want you with me when I confront him."  
He stared at Sersh meaningfully, "Perhaps it would have been 
better if you had finished him earlier."
	Sersh stared back undaunted.  "Perhaps." 
	Following the Patriarch, Sersh and Targ walked to the north 
end of the camp where the trail ended.  There, they waited for the 
man in black to arrive, amazed that he could so quickly find their 
camp.
	Deciding to enter the Sojourn camp boldly, Hawk walked 
unconcealed down the path.  If the boys were here he would try to 
bargain with the leader thereby alleviating the need for conflict.  If 
there were problems at least he could gauge their strengths and 
weaknesses before an actual confrontation.
	It had taken Hawk a day and a half to find the location of the 
young men he had vowed to protect.  It was not easy for him to 
track the wagon and the horses, but he was an experience outdoors 
man and it would take more than common thieves to lose him.  
Going into Southland, however, was not easy, and involved many 
risks. Luckily the outpost at this particular border was unmanned.  
This did not alarm Hawk since most smaller border trail posts were 
deserted during fall and winter, but the absence of border patrols 
caused some discomfort.
	 He saw the three men standing in front of a covered wagon 
and a bluish orange tent at the end of the path.  As he approached 
he recognized the two men standing a foot behind the tall, lavishly 
dressed man he assumed was the leader.
	"Welcome," said  the leader without any hint of greeting in his 
voice.  "How can the Sojourns be of service?"
	Hawk knew he was entering a dangerous game and weighed 
his question carefully. "Well, it is a long story, but,"  and referring 
to the two men behind the leader he said, "you remember the young 
men I traveled with not two days ago?  Well, it seems they have 
stolen my horses and provisions and left me.  I have tracked them 
in this direction and wondered if you have seen them.  I have an 
accounting to render."
	"That is most unfortunate, traveler," said