The emptiness was restful as much as liberating. The sameness of the plain and sky was a balm, and it calmed the constant anxiety that plagued him-what was the fate of Deep Imaskar in his absence? Would he find the fugitive soon enough? If he found her, what then?

So much for the balm of empty land.

Anyway, he was close to his target. He smelled a change in the air.

Iahn moved closer, altering the angle of the scene by cresting the intervening edge of a rocky bluff.

Not more than three hundred paces from the first swelling hillside stood the coach Iahn had trailed over the last months. It could be no other-its long shape and widely set wheels conformed to the ruts he'd come to know so well. From where he stood, surveying the site, he saw no horses or other beasts of burden capable of pulling the coach. As he had suspected-his quarry summoned steeds at need.

The coach's door crashed open, and several creatures tumbled out.

Iahn blinked, startled.

Before he could focus on the emerging figures, his attention was snatched by a hulking form that stepped out from behind the coach.

Half again as tall as a human, the massive beast had thick, gray skin with features not unlike those of a troll. Its hunched, apelike posture emphasized its substantial bulk and hinted at the power of its huge fists. Its lower torso and legs were wrapped in uncured hides, forming crude clothing. A leather thong around its neck bore a raw chunk of purplish crystal.

Unless more hid in the coach, the vengeance taker counted a total of four creatures, none of them the fugitive.

Of the trio that spilled out of the coach, Iahn identified two people in long white gowns, reminding him of the desert nomads he'd met when he'd skirted the Plains of Purple Dust. Except those folk had been humans, and their garments had been dark brown. These were some variety of elf. One elf dervish was female, the other male.

The last creature was humanoid, but of a race completely unfamiliar to Iahn. It was covered in a luxurious coat of ebony fur that complimented its black, pantherlike head. It had cloven hooves where Iahn expected feet or paws. Where it walked, a sheen lingered in its hoofprints before slowly evaporating. Iahn recognized it as the same glistening spoor he'd encountered a few days earlier.

The vengeance taker noted that each wore amulets similar to the troll's-the only visible clue that bound the entire group other than their proximity. Were these creatures servants of the fugitive, guarding her coach, or did they represent the force whispered to him by the Voice? Probably the latter, but the vengeance taker rarely reached conclusions without absorbing all possible information.

The panther-headed creature saw Iahn and pointed. Iahn stared back, wondering what they would do.

The two elf dervishes produced slender recurve bows from their garb, stringing them expertly in less than a heartbeat. The troll-thing swung its head around to regard Iahn, and screamed an incomprehensible battle cry. Then it charged.

Hostiles. He knew what to do about that. Iahn stepped back behind the edge of the bluff.

The vengeance taker muttered a few words of sorcery and ran one hand down the length of his body. Where his hand passed, his form became hazy and uncertain. Using this extra advantage, he eased back into a crevice.

The gray troll barreled around the edge of the rise, easily and quickly covering ground using both knuckles and feet. The earth trembled with each bounding step. It did not see Iahn, but paused, snuffling. The vengeance taker, whose position was hidden by both skill and magic, studied the creature's anatomy, musculature, and bulging veins. It was certainly of troll blood, but larger than any he had seen in a bestiary.

Iahn had studied on occasion in the Purple Library, an ancient and sadly out-of-date collection of scrolls, text fragments, and books retained in the heart of Deep Imaskar. He was an expert on all the bestiaries there. Apparently, troll varieties had multiplied and diversified in the millennia since the collection was gathered.

The vengeance taker studied the way the troll's muscles moved over its bones, the way its great chest rose and fell with each breath. He gently twisted the hilt of his dragonfly blade, then pulled it apart along the revealed seam. Silently, the thinblade slipped free of its enclosing hilt, giving Iahn the advantage of two weapons-the wafer-thin stiletto, and the long dragonfly blade, shaped like the wing of a dragonfly. Iahn froze, concentrating on his pursuer.

The troll snuffed and snuffled, its eyes vainly searching for its quarry. For his part, the vengeance taker had finished taking the creature's measure. A hollow caught the vengeance taker's eye, high up on the creature's neck, right below its jaw. The monstrosity would be dead before it realized it was threatened. All he had to do was to step forward and plunge his thinblade up and in…

The troll's awful nose flared and the beast charged Iahn. The vengeance taker abandoned his plan, bobbing and weaving wide to the left instead. A great fist smashed into the rock, barely missing Iahn.

The stone cracked like thunder and a spray of shards rained down, leaving a fist-sized crater behind.

The beast had smelled him!

The vengeance taker struck, driving the thinblade deep into the creature-but missed the spot where he could have spilled the creature's life blood instantly.

The troll screamed nonetheless, surprised at the pain in its chest. Its claws fell with lethal fury, and Iahn rolled to evade the fatal embrace. He slashed at the creature's ankles, hoping to pierce a major artery, but its skin resisted his jabs.

Then a gray, questing hand grabbed him.

The troll lifted Iahn clear off the ground. He had sorely underestimated the threat the creature posed. The troll raised him higher, its roar a clarion, nearly bursting Iahn's eardrums. Its breath was a quagmire of rot and past blood feasts.

Scissoring his body in the troll's rough grip, he managed to slip the tip of his thinblade into the corner of its left eye. He simultaneously swung the longer dragonfly blade around to connect with the other side of the creature's head. It roared and dropped Iahn. The vengeance taker knew the wounds he'd inflicted were only superficial; after all, his opponent was a troll. Its flesh would knit soon enough.

"I see him," a voice pronounced. A slender gray shaft plunged into the ground at Iahn's feet as the vengeance taker dodged away from the gray troll's reach.

An answering voice said, "So do I, but he's wearing a charm of some sort. I missed." The last was said with some incredulity. The second voice was speaking in Elvish, one of the many languages Iahn had studied to achieve his rank and damos.

The two elves in desert dress stood not more than thirty paces from him, their bows drawn and nocked. The troll wheeled around, its eyes fastening on Iahn despite the blurring around the vengeance taker.

"Hold, I have not come to fight!" Iahn yelled in Elvish. He had lost the upper hand. He didn't doubt he could slay the troll by calling on his damos, but he didn't want to be skewered by the elves' arrows in the meantime.

The hoofed one rounded the knoll's edge. Iahn had enough experience with sorcery to recognize its infernal taint. It held up a hand, not speaking. Its eyes gleamed as if lit by tiny lavender flames. An answering fire burned in the creature's crystal amulet.

It said, "Then you will die all the sooner." It spoke not in the language of the elves-it used the speech of Imaskar.

This surprised Iahn. Perhaps these were guardians placed by the fugitive after all?

"Who are you?" demanded the vengeance taker.

"I am Deamiel, but you'll have little enough chance to remember it."

"Wait," interrupted Iahn. "Answer me this-do you serve the one called Ususi Manaallin? Has she set you against me?"