PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 016

PBEM Orlantia: Usually.

It hadn't been as pleasant as he suspected, so far. After the ice storm, Febriwyn figured the worst was over and he would likely encounter no further difficulties. He was usually right about such things. Usually. This time, he figured wrong.

The glee at his fortune at having found a runaway horse - a considerable boon of wealth in anyone's book - faded from his mind as he rode along the trail and came upon something amiss.

In all honesty, he had known there was a decent chance the horse had come from that direction, and he might have to give it back to its rightful owners, if he found them. But they might reward him, too, even if only a little. Besides, he didn't really want a horse. Horses took a great deal of care - more care than he usually wanted to give. Usually.

He could use the money, however. And, of course, if the owners never turned up, well . . . he 'had' tried, hadn't he? He could sell it, and probably for a good deal of gold. Well, some gold, at any rate. It 'was' looking sort of long in the tooth, but he was not an expert on horseflesh. In fact, he had never received any training in horsemanship, yet he managed to stay atop the beast, nonetheless. It was just a question of balance. Febriwyn had good balance.

When he saw the mess up ahead, however, it took half a minute to get the dang creature to come to a complete halt - nasty beast had a mind of its own, and that wouldn't do, no, that wouldn't do at all. And it was noisy - oh man, it was loud. It made him feel almost naked and exposed, just being near it, let alone on top of it. Instead of silently walking though the woods, there he was, clomping along announcing his presence to all within earshot - 'Hey, I'm right here, everybody. Look at me!'

It wouldn't do, no, it wouldn't do at all.

Elven eyes were good, though, and he saw it from a considerable distance, this time, whatever it was. Dismounting, he left the old horse reined to a tree and decided to proceed on foot. He'd return for it later. That was also better, besides, in case anyone given to snap judgments would accuse him of stealing the horse under him before he could even speak. People were so untrusting, and that always made things difficult for Febriwyn. Well, usually.

He crept forward, alone, silent, until he saw it again from a new vantage point.

At first the elf didn't know what he was looking at. From a distance, it was obviously not natural, but little else could be discerned. He'd have to creep even closer. He was usually good at that - creeping. Usually.

There was no need of such stealth in that particular instance, though - the dead aren't usually apt to spot you as you slither along no matter how noisy you are. Usually. But he hadn't known they were dead, now did he? And they were dead - there was no mistaking that once he entered their camp.

*Surely, not the storm - it couldn't have done this,* the elf thought to himself. There was, after all, no one there to speak to - except the dead, of course, and Febriwyn hadn't developed the bad habit of speaking to corpses. Even with three of them, odds were none had anything to say. Horses, sure, you could talk to them, but dead people? Naw. Waste of time. Usually.

The bodies were still frozen to the ground. Obviously they had been exposed during the previous day's ice storm, but they had already been dead before that storm hit. Smashed. Trampled, in fact. Thoroughly stomped into the ground, they were. What remained had simply frozen solid like so much butchered meat hanging from a tree in the dead of winter.

Burying them was out of the question - and unnatural - so it hadn't crossed D'leorn's mind to do so. If left alone, nature would reclaim them, as was proper. He knew other races clung to other practices for their dead, but he was not thinking about them just then.

What had happened? That was a far more important question. After a time, unfortunately, he could find no answer to that, and the more practical side of him began to scavenge through the wrecked encampment.

A wagon was turned on its side, but a strong push remedied that. No horse, though.

*Of course,* it dawned on him. He 'had' found the owners. Too bad. Too bad for them, sure, but also too bad his prize was probably not much more than a plow horse. Less money for that. Still, probably more than any reward farmers would have given him. They had only had 2 GP and 4, after all, and couldn't have afforded to give him much of that.

*Not farmers,* he concluded after a time. He had been raking through the camp and scattered supplies. *Traders? Yeah, a family of traders. Gypsies? Maybe. Vistantie? Naw, that would be too rare. Any true Vistantie would have seen it coming, and would have been elsewhere,* he thought. 'True' fortunetellers were usually like that. Usually.

He spent hours loading the wagon with everything he felt he might be able to sell. Most of it had been busted up pretty good, like its owners. He left that, but took the rest. When the work was done, the elf looked around and listened. Silence - nothing but silence amid the more natural sounds of the forest. He was safe. He had time.

'After your work is done and you are certain you are safe, only then can the lone traveler afford to look to other matters,' he remembered being told. It made sense. The idea was that to do otherwise - to bother with lesser concerns first - could lead one to an early demise. 'Look to yourself first,' was the lesson.

A lot of training was like that - designed to hammer home the lessons that might help one avoid an early demise. It usually helped. Usually.

Febriwyn spent the next few hours lashing branches together and making a burial stand for the family in the tree. Finally, he placed the remains atop the bed of the stand and offered them to the gods. Not his own lord, for he didn't know what god those people had worshiped, but to the gods in general. The god usually looked favorably upon such acts of kindness. Usually.

It was all he could do for their payment, after all.

The 'payment' was, of course, for services rendered, and the horse, wagon, and worldly belongings of the traders now rightfully belonged to him. He didn't steal them, honest. He earned them, and with clear conscious, should anyone ask, he could tell them those things belonged to him. They did, after all. Who else did they belong to if not him?

It wasn't something he'd likely have to tell a lot of people, anyway. Maybe only one or two. He'd sell them at first opportunity for gold. No one usually asked where gold came from. Usually. They were more concerned about whether it was real or not, and how to get it into their own pockets, to bother with questions of its origins.

Febriwyn hooked the horse up to the wagon and began to head east. He turned south, after a time. That land was unknown to him, but he knew a trail when he crossed it. And he knew enough to follow them if he wanted to find people. A large town would be nice right about then. A large town usually meant a large, friendly market. Usually.

As the night approached, the signs were he was getting closer to town, so after the second day of travel, the elf decided the town must be close enough by then, and he continued to press on into the night. His instincts about such things were usually pretty good. Usually.

Sadly, it was well into the night when he finally spied the dim lamplights of a village ahead. Slowly, as quietly as he could manage it, he prodded his horse drawn wagon along into the darkened streets.

Oddly, there were people milling about.

*At this time of night?* he wondered.

Something apparently had just happened that was disturbing to the locals. He didn't know what.

Most were heading toward one building, an inn of some kind, and, naturally - being a curious fellow - Febriwyn concluded there was usually no better place to be than where the action was, whatever it was. Usually.

He parked the wagon alongside the inn and ventured inside, where a dwarf with a foul disposition was glowering at the patrons and ranting. The elf stood and listened. That was usually a good idea before saying anything to a stranger. Usually.

At last he began to glean what had happened. Something - some beast - had attacked the village, and this dwarf's friend had died defending the town. That was noble. Stupid, perhaps. Foolish, maybe. Perhaps even the mark of inexperience, he wasn't sure. But noble, yes, such acts were usually noble. Usually.

*I guess it couldn't hurt of offer my help,* he figured, and so, he did. People usually treated others who offered to help quite a bit better. Usually.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Ad Locum Patres

Tyrulf gently put down Jahar's remains and then entered the inn. Looking around the room he could see that everyone was staring at him, but he glared at them, almost daring one of them to provoke him. Every one of the patrons looked away as he scowled at them.

Walking up to the bar, Tyrulf summoned the barkeep, who seemed a little unwilling to approach the enraged dwarf. The fact was that Tyrulf, as with the other members of the group, was only mad at himself for not being there to protect his newfound friend.

"Innkeeper, I require the use of some shovels. One of my comrades was killed protecting this town." Tyrulf raised his voice so that all of the patrons could hear the last statement.

He looked at Tyrulf with some concern and then listened to hushed conversations that started right after that last comment. Glancing around, though, the innkeeper relaxed since it was unlikely that one of the local people would bother the well-armed dwarf, even if he wasn't in a foul mood. Looking back at Tyrulf, he shook his head. After many years spent behind the bar you learn how to read people, and he could recognize the guilt in Tyrulf's eyes. *Poor soul blames himself for his friend's death.*

He shook his head and answered, "I've no decent shovels for such a task. I am sorry about your friend's death, but we can't just bury him where you please. Not in town, sir, anyway. I'm sure no one would begrudge your friend a spot up 'round the orchard. That's where we plan . . . um . . . bury our own," he added.

"If you want, I'll take him out there in the morning in my wagon," a man behind Tyrulf offered. Ty looked around to see who had spoken. A short, slim, and by the sound of his accent, non-human stood in the doorway, obviously newly arrived in town, and therefore probably wondering what the commotion was all about.

"Who are you?" Ty asked.

"A traveler. I've just arrived in town from the north. Looks like there's little chance of getting much rest tonight, but my wagon's just outside. Come, let us lay your friend to rest there for now."

"That might be best, sir," the barkeep spoke again. "The caretaker will take care of your friend then, sir. In the morning, sir. Diggin's no easy task to take up in the dark, sir, I beg you."

Tyrulf only nodded to the bartender and walked to the door where the man was standing. There seemed to be less people willing to meet his gaze - all locals - but this new man's sky blue eyes followed Ty's every move.

*An elf?* thought the dwarf. There was no mistaking the shape of his eyes, or his general appearance. This man was an elf.

"I did not catch your name, friend elf," Ty said, somewhat suspiciously. It was well to be cautious of strangers, especially those whose affiliations were clearly unknown.

"Febriwyn D'leorn, sir," was all he replied, before he, too, exited the inn. Together, in complete silence, the dwarf and the newly arrived elf gently placed the fallen sailor into the bed of the wagon parked immediately outside the inn.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: A Painful Recollection

Sefarlain returned to the bar, this time much drier than before, but still in little mood for idle talk with those in the tavern. The barman glanced up and then quickly busied himself with something behind the counter that had suddenly become very urgent. There were some advantages in being behind the bar, and the ability to distract yourself at awkward times was one of them. Others looked away or paused in mid conversation. The whole atmosphere had suddenly become very uncomfortable.

The ranger could clearly see his trail of mud and water across the floor from before, but the bar staff had decided they would let the matter pass, and so he continued over to the exit at the far side of the inn. He passed silently through the crowd and pushed the heavy door open. It alone complained noisily, breaking the silence with its groans.

The dim light from the inn spilled out onto the road outside. Not enough for most, but with his eyesight, Sef could quite clearly make out his friends loading something into a wagon. It looked heavy, and quickly Sef realized what lay within the tarpaulin's folds. It could only mean one thing; he was too late to help Jahar.

Afyanna caught sight of Sef as soon as he opened the inn door, and she went over to meet him.

"We need to talk," she said, somewhat abruptly, adding, "Jahar is dead."

There was no need to say anything else. The anguish they both felt for many reasons was obvious.

"I'm sorry, Afy. I couldn't save him. I . . . I barely saved myself."

Sef looked almost ashamed about his admission. Perhaps his assistance was not as invaluable as he thought? He admitted as much to the halfelf, but she quickly corrected him.

"Don't be so ridiculous!" She paused, and then in a softer tone, added, "We're all blaming ourselves here. Myself included. Just tell me what happened, please. I need to know what we're dealing with."

The ranger sighed and then nodded.

"Okay. You're right. But I think everyone is going to need to hear this. Once I've told you what happened, you'll understand why."

"Fine. There's someone helping us with Jahar, by the way. We've laid his remains in his wagon and we'll see to Jahar properly in the morning. I think we should talk now."

"All right," said the elf. "I'll get the others."

And with that, Sef walked over to where the rest of the group was finally finished with what remained of their friend, Jahar.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: The New Guy

Tyrulf looked at Jahar's body in the wagon. *A group of adventurers with all our varied abilities and skills couldn't save this man. What are we up against?*

The door to the tavern opened and Sef stood there looking at the group. Looking at him, Tyrulf could see the same guilty look on Sef's face that he could see on the others.

*I am sure my face wears the mask of guilt as well,* he thought.

Afyanna walked up to him and asked what had happened. When he moved to the wagon, Tyrulf spoke up.

"Sef, I'd like you to meet Febriwyn D'leorn. He has graciously offered to lend the use of his wagon to transport Jahar's body."

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: The New Guy

It was all taken care of. Jahar would be buried in the morning. This time she would not be required to take care of it herself. This time there were others. This time there was no task to distract her from her feelings. She somehow wished there was because she felt awful.

Tyrulf introduced the person who generously offered his wagon. It was a kind gesture, but she couldn't help but wonder if he had maybe a specific motive for doing so.

"Do you have any personal reasons for your kind offer?" Alana asked him. "I mean, did you, too, lose someone to this abomination that is killing good people for no apparent reason?"

She had seen the red pins in the sheriff's office. But each one probably stood for a story. Perhaps this person was involved in such a story. Perhaps he could tell them something more. Which reminded her she still had many questions for Sefarlain.

-Wilma (Alana)

PBEM Orlantia: Dunno.

Febriwyn stopped and looked at Afyanna for a moment after he finished speaking, carefully considering the first words after Alana questioned him.

It was as he had been told - outsiders weren't usually trusting or friendly.

Febriwyn considered the possibility of a connection between the traders and a broken adventurer without feeling a need to discuss it. Their friend had been badly hurt; perhaps there was a connection after all. Both looked as if they had been trampled.

*The outside world is usually dangerous. Usually,* he recalled what his master usually said.

With that thought, elven shoulders lifted and fell underneath in a shrug.

"Don't think so."

- Brandon (Febriwyn)

PBEM Orlantia: A Tale At The Bar.

Once Jahar's body had been placed in the wagon, Sefarlain gathered everyone around him.

"Tonight has been hard for us all," he began. "There is much we need to discuss, but perhaps we'd be better inside. I'm still cold from the river."

He gestured towards the inn and slowly the group drifted back inside in ones and twos until only Sefarlain and the stranger remained outside. The ranger looked straight at the new elf. No sign of the recent calamity could be seen in his dead gaze, which most people would find rather unnerving. Eventually, Sefarlain broke the silence.

"Thank you for your help with our friend. You are welcome inside, if you wish to hear how this happened."

The stranger nodded his approval and together they walked into the warmth and light of The Yellow Trout.

A quiet corner of the bar was quickly secured, despite a few anxious glances from the landlord. Most of the other patrons had left, perhaps on account of the events of the evening. It's not always a good night for a drink when someone is murdered in the street outside. The news of the events would travel fast around the village.

All eyes fixed on the ranger as he began to speak. Not a natural orator, he began hesitantly, but as the memory of his dead friend came back, Sef forgot his inhibition and spoke with a clear, strong voice, full of anger and regret.

He relayed all that he could remember, beginning with the walk. Alana looked particularly interested at the mention of the silent insects and nodded her head at some inner thought, but all were soon captivated and horrified as Sef described the speed and force of the attack on Jahar. The regret in his voice choked his words, leaving them thick in his mouth, but he continued nevertheless, leaving him emotionally drained by the time he described the beast dancing over his head in the river.

When he had finished his tale, he sat back in his chair, awaiting some comment from anyone else. The silence was deafening as each individual contemplated what he or she had just heard.

"Whatever we face, we know one thing now," he finished." This beast, wherever it came from or whoever brought it here, can be hurt. It was too much for me, but together I think we can match it. The real question is where do we go from here now?"

Afyanna knew all were looking at her.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Accusation.

All eyes turned to Afyanna, even those not belonging to party members. In particular, Sef was slightly surprised to see Ackermann, the sheriff, had somehow slipped in at some point and had been listening to his accounting of the night's recent events. His eyes were filled with anger and . . . what? Fear? Sef couldn't be sure.

"Indeed," said the sheriff, "what do you plan on doing, now that you've brought that creature into the town itself?" he accused the party.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Answers

While listening to Sef explain what happened, Mystir paid close attention to the details of the creature.

*A horse. A flying horse.* The description of the creature tickled the boy's mind. *A flying, flaming horse.*

He was certain he had heard of this beast before. Hearche held many sessions during Mystir's study with him on the creatures that might be found on Orlantia.

*Ah, yes, that's it,* Mystir thought. There were only a few horse-like creatures. And only one that the young wizard could associate with the element of fire.

So engaging were the young wizard's thoughts that he didn't hear the sheriff's question.

"A nightmare" he said, oblivious to the sheriff's accusation.

Mystir didn't realize he had spoken aloud until Sef replied to his comment. "I wish it were just a nightmare, then Jahar would still be alive."

"No, that's not what I meant." He paused a moment.

Looking up, he noticed everyone staring past him, so he looked around to see what held their gaze. Ackermann stood there, and he appeared to be to be waiting for something while he glared at Mystir. He shrugged off the look and continued.

"The creature itself is called a nightmare, I think." A few still did not understand what he meant. "A nightmare," he paused again, "is a very powerful, flame-engulfed, flying, black horse. Some other properties that have been rumored are an ability to vanish into thin air, and to breathe fire."

*Breathe fire? Is that right?* Mystir pondered over his statement a moment. *It's hard to be certain of a creature's abilities without a live specimen to study.*

He continued. "Well, I definitely must agree to the vanishing part, but I am uncertain about the rest." Mystir shook his head. "A nightmare. Yes, this definitely answers a lot of questions. The crushed victims would be the beast coming down on them. A fire without a source would be the creature itself. Circular spots of melted snow would be where the creature stood above the ground for a few moments. And it also explains its speed and our inability to follow it with accuracy."

*I should have realized it sooner,* he continued in his own thoughts. Mystir started to feel guilty for the first time this evening. Maybe if he had put the pieces together sooner, they would not have been unprepared.

"So, yeah, I believe we are facing a nightmare here. And from what I saw, the name fits the creature," Mystir said, shaking his head and shifting his gaze about the party.

"That may be so, but I ask again," the sheriff repeated himself, his anger more visible the second time around, "what do you plan on doing, now that you've brought that creature into the town itself?"

Mystir's face held a puzzled expression. *Again?*

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: So, It's A Nightmare

The accusation of the sheriff annoyed Alana tremendously. Still, she managed to keep silent and await Afyanna's comment.

By silent agreement, Afyanna was the leader of their group and the holy warrior would no doubt be quite capable of dealing with the sheriff. And if not, there would be ample opportunity for her to say something about it later. Despite the unpleasant circumstances, Alana felt a certain amount of pride in herself at her self-control. All those studies with the Monks of Kensai did pay off, after all.

Suddenly Mystir spoke up, interrupting her train of thought. 'Nightmare,' he had said. His words brought a sense of relief for Alana. It was good to be able to attach a name to the nameless horror they had been chasing. And his description sure fit her experiences.

She had nearly pulled the words out of Sefarlain's mouth when he described his ordeal, and had felt his pain for not being able to stop what happened to Jahar. It wasn't much unlike her own pain, even though she imagined it must have been even worse to actually see it happen.

Somehow, Mystir coming up with a name gave her the impression that they had at least gained something. She could have hugged the young wizard for that. They had identified their opponent, and it was a nightmare.

In the back of her head, a small voice admonished her not to jump to conclusions so fast, but she chose to ignore it for now. The description fit, and it wasn't like they had much else to go on.

Then the sheriff repeated his accusation, and this time Alana was not able to stop herself before she blurted out a heated response.

"What do you mean WE brought that creature to the town? Just because . . . ," something thumped against her legs and caused her to stop speaking. Instinctively she reached down to identify whatever had touched her and her fingers met silken fur.

Lucian burst out in purrs when her hand caressed him, and she could feel them reverberating through his body and entering her own through her hand. As always it had an immediate calming effect on her.

She had intended to say 'Just because you are too incompetent to deal with this threat yourself does not give you the right to accuse the victims of being responsible,' but thanks to the cat's intervention she didn't speak those words aloud.

"We didn't," she continued, instead, a little less heated. "And I think, deep down, you know that."

Lucian kept thumping against her legs, demanding her to caress him, and the soothing effect his purrs had on her had given her the opportunity to look closer at the sheriff.

*He is afraid,* Alana realized. *He doesn't know how to fight this so he lashes out at us, convincing himself we are to blame. And with Afyanna resembling that statue, he may even have succeeded in making himself really believe it.*

Thinking about the statue made her realize something else, too.

*I really would like to see that statue, myself. The resemblance can't just be pure coincidence. Perhaps that is what we should do next.* She would talk to Afyanna about that as soon as an appropriate moment presented itself.

- Wilma (Alana)

PBEM Orlantia: The Angry Sheriff.

"What I mean, 'miss'," he began, his tone more than a little insulting, "is that that, that . . . THING, never dared come into town before you showed up. Do you mean to tell me you didn't lure it here? What am I supposed to believe, then? It just decided to come into a well-patrolled town and attack you for no apparent reason when it never had before? That makes no sense!" he spat out.

The sheriff was obviously quite angry - with them, true, but more at the helplessness he felt, and the uncertainty of his dilemma. What was worse, he didn't wish to discuss it rationally. He wanted someone to blame, and he half suspected - though he couldn't say exactly how, or even come close to proving it - that the nightmare did, indeed, deliberately target the strangers. As long as they remained, he felt certain, his people were in greater danger.

"It'll take half a day to dig your friend's grave," he continued, somewhat more coolly. "There's no reason for you to wait for the actual burial. We'll do that ourselves, since he died defending . . ." the sheriff stopped there, his thoughts confused.

"In the morning, you can say goodbye and hold whatever rites you wish over him, but I want you out of town before that monster decides to have another crack at you. Clear!" The last was not a question.

And again, as seemed to be his style when he was done, the sheriff afforded no opportunity for rebuttal, simply turned, and stormed out of the Trout.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: A Response.

*What did he just say?*

Sefarlain could barely comprehend what he had just heard from the sheriff. Had he really suggested they had brought that abomination into the town? Surely he couldn't think they had done that deliberately?

And yet, the more he thought about it, the more he became concerned. It did seem a little . . . ominous that they had been attacked when separated and unprepared. Were they being watched? Was this attack pre-planned? The ranger didn't enjoy where his thoughts were taking him.

The group was angrily discussing the sheriff's last words. There was much resentment about his inference. Afyanna, in particular, looked thunderously across the table.

Sefarlain raised his hand slightly, but no one seemed to take much notice. Perhaps he might have to speak up instead?

"Everyone. HEY, EVERYONE!"

The noise lessened slowly, but the mood did not seem to change.

"Look," he began," I know we all have a lot of different thoughts about what has just happened, but for now none of that is going to help us. Or Jahar."

It was easy to forget what all this was about at times.

"We've all come a lot closer to why we are all here tonight. Afyanna has led us right to where this evil has originated. Don't let ignorance deflect us from what we are here to do. There are too many people depending on us, and the memories of others as well."

"Mystir has given us some real insight into what attacked us tonight. We have to decide where to go from here."

Sef turned towards the young halfelf.

"Mystir, have you ever heard of these creatures being controlled or summoned by something or someone? I just got the impression this nightmare had come looking for us, and that unsettles me. Are we dealing with only this, or as I suspect, something behind the attack? I just don't understand where this thing came from, otherwise. Maybe our answers lie in Wrath."

He turned to Afyanna.

"The statue story is a bit unnerving, Afy. Do you think Corellon is guiding us there for a purpose?"

He left the question hanging. Sometimes his fate was best left to those who had closer access to the divine than he did.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: How Dare He!?

Afyanna sat at the table listening to Sefarlain describe his encounter. She said very little, though her mood had cooled somewhat after she spoke to the archers.

Even with the new information, her mind kept reviewing the events of the night.

*Could I have done anything?*

Sefarlain had sensed something and at least had an inkling of danger. The two archers had come upon the creature itself while it was occupied, and had fired repeatedly at it. The creature, *nightmare,* she corrected her thoughts, had been essentially unaffected by all accounts.

Three people with varying degrees of preparedness had barely hurt it. Poor Jahar had been completely unprepared for its attack. He stood no chance.

Knowing this did not make his death any easier, nor did it completely remove her from blame, but at least the holy warrior was beginning to consider that she would probably not have been able to prevent it. Hurt the creature more? Kill it? Perhaps. But Afyanna suspected Jahar would still be dead. It seemed it was his time.

Then sheriff Ackermann hurled the accusation at them - at her.

*How dare he?* she shouted inwardly, her body shifting forward in the chair. *There are many reasons it could have come now!*

Afyanna's eyes burned into Ackermann's back as he strode out. If she had not had time to cool down, the holy warrior might well have leapt from behind the table to challenge him for his remark. As it was, she sat, poised, muscles taut, and ready for any provocation, though none came. If the sheriff had so much as moved toward them, she would have struck before she cold stop herself.

The others were just as dumbfounded as she about his attitude. Alana, for her part, had offered a reply before the sheriff stormed out. Afyanna had not been able to force any words to come out.

*Had we been the reason for the nightmare's attack?* she wondered.

Afy considered it a moment but then dismissed it. No, though it was one possible reason, it was certainly not probable in her mind.

*It had to be a coincidence,* she concluded. *We are getting closer to the source of the evil. All those pins in the map. The closer to Wrath we get, the more this mystery deepens.*

*Yes,* she continued, *that's it, of course. Danger's about, so people keep to the towns. When it can't find anything to hunt, it comes into a town. Sefarlain and Jahar had been fairly alone when they were attacked.*

The tension in her body melted away somewhat and she released the white-knuckle grip on the table. There was no way that they were to blame for this. None!

Had the creature sought their party out? Possibly. Had it been a horrible coincidence? Almost certainly.

But of course Ackermann would have none of that. Instead he simply accused the only