Estah sighed and nodded. "I suppose you're right, husband. I've packed some balms and bandages, Tyveris. You know how to use them if…"

"Of course, Estah," the big loremaster said warmly, reaching down to grip the hauling healer's hand.

Estah nodded with a smile. Then the expression faltered. "But what will you do without a healer?" she said, worry showing in her brown eyes. "If one of you were to get hurt, and I wasn't there to… and especially you, pretty one." She reached up to touch Mari's hand. Mari didn't know what to say. "I just don't know what I'd do. I don't think that I could bear it."

"Go," a voice said softly. A hand fell gently on Estah's shoulder.

It was Jolle.

Estah turned to gaze at him, shaking her head softly. "Go," Jolle repeated. "It means everything to you. And it might mean everything to all of us as well."

"But I can't," Estah said softly. "Why, who will run the kitchen in the inn? And tend the garden? And take care of the children? And who will light new candles for you, husband, when the old ones burn too low?" Jolle raised a finger to her lips to silence her protests. "Go," he said one last time. They embraced. His eyes shone with sorrow, but also with pride and love.

Scant minutes later Estah sat in her pony's saddle, and the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, reunited, was ready to take up where they had left off.

"I'll be here when you come back, wife," Jolle cried. Estah only nodded, as if even that was more of a farewell then the two of them could bear.

"Take care of yourself, Jolle," Caledan advised the baffling innkeeper. "If any of Ravendas's men come around asking questions, you don't know anything about where we've gone. Be careful. Don't get yourself into trouble."

"Don't you worry about me," Jolle said, a hard glint in his eye. "I can take care of myself. It's you who ride into danger, not I. May the gods watch over you."

The riders made their way single file down the alley behind the Dreaming Dragon. Ferret rode at the fore, scouting ahead. When he indicated the way was clear, the companions made their way out of the alley, riding through the city streets in the early morning light.

As they approached the city's west gate, they fell silent. They were about to pass through when a rough-looking guard stepped into their path, halting the companions. He didn't look to be Zhentarim, but his hand rested on his sword hilt with practiced ease.

"All right, mates. Show me your papers," the guard said, eyeing them distrustfully.

"Papers?" Caledan asked, apparently taken by surprise. "That's right," the guard growled. "It's a new rule, come down from the tower just yesterday. No one's to leave the city without papers bearing Lord Cutter's seal. Seems some city guards have been getting badly cut up, and Lord Cutter doesn't want the rats who are doing it to sneak out of Iriae-bor before she rewards them properly. Now, you got papers or don't you?"

Mari saw Caledan's hand creeping down toward his boot-and his concealed dagger. "Sure, I'll show you our papers," Caledan said, his body tensing.

Suddenly his horse was jostled aside as Morhion rode forward. "Here they are," the mage said, handing the guard several pieces of parchment. Mari's eyes widened. The papers were completely blank! The mage was going to get them all killed. She started inching her own hand toward the saddlebag where she had stashed a crossbow.

"Well, everything seems in order here," the guard said. Mari stared. The man wore a vacant look on his face, and Morhion watched him intently as he folded up the blank parchment and handed it back. "Well, get on with you," the guard barked. "I haven't got all day."

Morhion spurred his horse through the gate.

"Come on," Caledan whispered to Mari, and she nudged her horse to follow. Whatever magic Morhion had used to trick the guard, it had worked.

They rode swiftly for a league or so until Iriaebor, the City of a Thousand Spires, disappeared behind a low hill. They turned west across rolling plains that were green with the new growth of early spring. Pale, tiny flowers dotted the grass, their fragrance sharp in the air. The sun was warm, and Mari threw her cloak back over her shoulders. It felt good to be away from the oppression of the city. She had forgotten how bright and lovely the world could be.

They had a long journey before them. Even riding hard, the city of Berdusk was almost four days' away, and the Fields of the Dead lay another hundred leagues to the northwest, nearly a tenday farther, and that only if the weather held.

Shortly after midday, Ferret, who had been scouting up ahead, came galloping back toward the companions on his skinny roan stallion, his nose twitching. "I don't know if any of you were expecting company," the thief said, "but it looks like we've got some. There's someone keeping watch on a hilltop about half a league ahead."

Mari knew the thief's sharp eyes were seldom wrong. "Just one person?"

The thief nodded. "It could be either a man or a woman. It's hard to tell, with the black robes."

"Black robes?" Caledan spoke up, casting a glance at Mari.

She looked worried.

"What is it, Caledan?" Estah asked in concern. "Is it someone you know?"

"Maybe," he said grimly, gripping the hilt of the sword resting at his hip. "It sounds like that would-be assassin we ran into on the road to the Sunset Mountain monastery."

Ferret led them farther northwest, following a narrow valley that circled out of sight some distance from the rise where he had glimpsed the black-robed assassin. They rode hard for over two hours, pushing their mounts to their limits as the land, green and damp with the new spring, rolled by. But as the sun sank toward the western horizon, Ferret once again saw a black silhouette on a low ridge in the distance.

"It's no use," Caledan said. "This fellow can move fast. Man, Tyveris, and I know that from experience. I'd rather face him now than later, in the dark." He eyed the westering sun nervously.

"Then we should find a defensible place and wait for him," Morhion said coolly. "Let the choice of where we meet be ours, not his." Caledan nodded grudgingly.

They found a low rise that dropped off into a rock-strewn ravine. A clear stream flowed swiftly in the ravine's bottom, toward the Chionthar, now three leagues to the south. Mari, Caledan, Ferret, and Tyveris formed a semicircle on the top of the knoll, backs to where Morhion and Estah stood with the horses. Caledan reached for his sword and Mari her crossbow. Ferret gripped a dagger in each hand; Tyveris was ready to fight with fists alone. Even Estah clutched a small knife, though all knew she was loath to use weapons. Morhion seemed calmest of all, waiting and watching.

"There he is!" Ferret exclaimed, pointing with his knife. They watched as a figure clad in jet-black robes appeared atop a ridge, striding toward them. The assassin moved with uncanny swiftness, and Mari had to force her hand to remain steady on the crossbow. In moments the black-robed man was ascending the low knoll where the companions stood. Mari waited until she was certain the figure was within range. Then she fired.

The crossbow bolt whistled through the air, landing with a sickening thunk directly in the chest of the assassin. The figure stumbled backward, clutching at the arrow with a black-gloved hand, then toppled to the ground.

"He's dead-" Ferret started to say, but then he choked on the words as the assassin rose and started back up the hill. A gust of chill wind whipped over the knoll. It caught the heavy cowl of the assassin's robe and then tore it aside, revealing the attacker's horrible visage.

"By all the gods!" Tyveris swore. "What is it?"

The figure that approached them was not human. The beast's face was misshapen, covered with thick, iron-gray scales. Two obsidian-dark tusks curved like scimitars from its maw, and a single, serrated onyx horn sprang from its brow. But most revolting of all, where the creature's eyes should have been, there were only two shallow depressions. It could not see. Rather, it swung its head from side to side, taking in air through its two slit-shaped nostrils.