"Damned little shardling," Kiril cursed. She'd gone more than a few months without loosing Angul from his imprisoning sheath. She didn't want to start the trip by bringing out the sanctimonious blade. Angul was an unbending, saintly bastard in his steel incarnation-more so than he'd been in life, and far more powerful. Kiril swore again, but refrained from retrieving the nameless god from her hip. She'd blurred the edge enough for the moment. She could stand only so much unsteadiness and faded reality. The elf warrior picked up the skull from the floor and looked at it closely. It had a few new cracks.

Kiril growled and placed it back on the shelf. Reminders of mortality were not themselves immune to destruction. She gathered up her saddlebags and departed her chamber. The amber glow of the earthlamp sensed her absence, and after ten heartbeats, dimmed.

The sun warmed Kiril as she spiraled down the exposed staircase to meet Thormud, Xet, and a pile of bags at the Finger Defiant's base.

The morning was well along, and the elf didn't have to worry about treacherous night winds blowing her off the side of the mesa. By the time she reached Thormud, after first spying him from higher up, nothing had changed. The dwarf stood, eyes closed, holding the tip of his selenite rod to the ground. "Daylight's burning, Thormud," Kiril said. "You can poke rocks later." The dwarf's eyes opened, and he said, "The earth speaks, to those with the patience to hear it." Kiril sighed and dropped her saddlebags on the pile. "I've heard that somewhere." Thormud rubbed his chin. "The disturbance prohibits me from knowing exactly where or how far, or even the precise direction to go." "But we're going to Durpar, right?" "We are going southeast, yes. I think, although it is impossible to say for sure, all the way to Durpar. I must build up a picture of the topography from the echoes of the disturbance that reach me. A challenging task." Kiril waved her hand at the technicalities. "Is it a task you're up to?" "Yes, if left to it." The dwarf was the soul of patience, Kiril knew all too well.

He was… "You made a joke!" Kiril exclaimed. "All the gods of Sildeyuir, I thank you I was here to witness it." Thormud inclined his head a few degrees in agreement. "All right. Think of me as one of your less-communicative stones," Kiril said. "I'll be over there, polishing my blade." The elf had no intention of drawing Angul. It didn't require sharpening or polishing-the Blade Cerulean was sufficient unto itself. Instead, she pulled a dirk out of her boot.

The hilt of the dagger was unblemished silver, and delicate green traceries graced the blade. The weapon was one of the few keepsakes of her home. She kept it for more than just its good elven steel, trusty in a fight-it was a reminder of her childhood in the enchanted Yuirwood. In truth, she used the dagger more often than her sword.

Better to wield a minor piece of elven steel than a naked, bitter soul in the shape of a long sword. She perched on one of Thormud's chests and wiped down the blade with kuevar oil. Not for the first time, she wondered about procuring another long sword-sometimes the dagger, despite its incredible edge, was insufficient. Perhaps something she could use instead of drawing Angul that was dangerous in its own right. A magical blade, perhaps. The sun moved a full hand's span in the sky. Finally, Thormud said, "I have determined our route as best I can. I will try additional detailed divinations as we move along, but those must wait for proximity." Kiril stood, sheathing her dirk and packing her oil kit. She had traveled with the dwarf long enough to know what came next. Thormud went to his knees and lay down, facing the earth. He spread his arms and legs wide, as if seeking to embrace the land. His fingers clutched and he crooned a gravelly tune. The sound went right through Kiril. The noise was less acute in her ears than in the soles of her feet-the ground vibrated in harmony with the dwarf's call. Thormud beseeched the deep earth itself, and he was answered. The earth convulsed beneath Thormud's spread-eagled body. As if soft mud instead of solid stone, a blister of rock grew, raising Thormud almost fifteen feet into the air. As the blister expanded, it took on a vague shape. From formlessness came a head, a torso, and six pillarlike legs. A granite destrier was revealed, a quickening of the living earth. Kiril recognized it-the dwarf called one each time travel beckoned. Nothing ate up the empty distance like a granite destrier. Thormud perched immediately behind the destrier's vulpine head. A flat expanse of the creature's back, perfect for securing baggage or additional passengers, stretched behind the dwarf. Xet chimed and flew up to alight on the destrier's hard snout. Thormud wiped sweat from his brow. Even for a geomancer of the dwarf's expertise, calling forth such a mighty servant was difficult. "Are you going to sit up there taking in the view all day," queried Kiril, "or are you going to lower that thing so I can get our gear packed?" Xet belled a protesting tone at her. The dragonet was always mindful of its master's feelings. Not that Thormud had ever risen to the bait Kiril was so fond of dishing out. Thormud kept his position a moment longer, then patted the great head. The stone destrier grunted, almost like a living beast, and lowered itself to the ground. Kiril loaded and secured the gear. Thormud silently rested from his exertion. When every saddlebag, chest, and case was tied down to Kiril's satisfaction, she took her position behind the dwarf. Thormud's calling had specified the creation of two seatlike depressions in the stone of the destrier's back. They would be comfortable enough, Kiril recalled, though the conveyance took a little getting used to. Thormud patted the head of the destrier once again, saying, "Run free, my friend, above the confines of your mother flesh." Kiril rolled her eyes. The dwarf was fond of such purple prose. Another perk of her employment. The destrier stretched to its full height in a surprisingly smooth motion and began to run. As if it were a coyote after a jackrabbit, the granite destrier lit out across the open plain, dust streaming in its wake. As fast as the fastest horse at full gallop, the six-legged earth elemental streaked southeast.

Low hills, bumpy knolls, and rocky ridges broke up the afternoon light. Covered in scrub grass, the hills' color varied between brown and pale gold, while the barren ridges revealed dark purple striatums of vanished centuries. Here and there, stone slabs thrust up from the earthen hilltops, sometimes singly, other times in groups forming ancient rings of debatable purpose.

Since Iahn had ascended to the sunlit lands outside the magically sealed Deep Imaskar, he'd undergone a slow change in attitude. He was beginning to suspect he was made for wide open lands, not closely proscribed walls and corridors.

It amused him to recall that prior to his recent travels, he hadn't had the breadth of experience to think of his home as "proscribed." Before, he'd never thought of the artificially illuminated city behind the Great Seal as confining-but he'd never known anything else.

The vengeance taker's gaze wandered across the wide open, sun-baked landscape. Despite the variation offered by the hills, he traveled through essentially empty terrain, free of obstacles to clutter his view. His eyes could wander without getting snagged on walls, trees, or mountains, as long as he didn't look east.

Without distractions to his vision, his mind had space to roam, too. The vacancy of the earth cried to be filled, and so he filled it with tumbling thoughts, ideas, and even aspirations he'd rarely pondered since his childhood. No thought was too big or too odd to entertain.