It was midmorning, and the autumn day was turning fine, when Morhion noticed that only four horses were trotting down the dirt road. Kellen was missing.

"He must have fallen back," Mari said worriedly after Morhion called the others to a halt.

"Then we'd better go find him, and fast," Cormik said darkly. "1 wouldn't be surprised if there were thieves on the road. Other than ourselves, I mean."

They wheeled their horses around and thundered back down the road. As they rounded a bend and skidded to an abrupt stop, Kellen's pony let out a whinny and trotted toward them, trailing his reins. Flash's saddle was empty. Mari shot Morhion a fearful look. Unpleasant possibilities were numerous. Thieves were not the only perils in the wilderness. Morhion swore inwardly. If Kellen was hurt—or worse—he would never…

Jewel called out, "Over here, loves!" and the others hastily spurred their mounts in her direction. They found Kellen kneeling by the side of the dirt road, peering at something amid a tangle of brambles and witchgrass.

Morhion allowed himself a sigh of relief. "What are you doing, Kellen?" he asked sternly.

"I've found something," Kellen indicated solemnly.

The others exchanged curious glances, then dismounted and approached, pushing aside the underbrush to get a glimpse of Kellen's discovery.

By the looks of it, the milestone was very old. It was cracked and sunk halfway into the ground. Centuries of wind and rain had almost completely worn away the words carved into its surface. Yet it was not the basalt Monolith's sense of age that made the companions stare. It was the face. The milestone had been grotesquely distorted.

much like the stone houses in Corm Orp. One of its four surfaces bore a human visage. The image was crude and half-formed, as though it had melted before resolidifying. Yet its expression was vivid, a look of utter sorrow.

It was Cormik who finally spoke. In a low voice he said, "Well, at least now we know Caledan came this way."

Morhion drew out the ruby amulet he had forged. A spark flickered deep in the heart of the gem. Cormik was right.

Mari shook her head. "By the gods—look at it. The face in so unspeakably sad. He knows what's happening to him, doesn't he? He knows what he's becoming…" Her words trailed off.

"We should try to reach Hill's Edge before nightfall," Morhion said finally. "If Caledan continues to follow the road, people there will notice him."

Somberly, the others agreed. They thundered down the Dusk Road, leaving the eerie face of sorrow far behind.

Nine

The rolling landscape slipped by in a blur of russet, brown, and burnished copper. As the afternoon wore on, dark clouds moved in from the west, accompanied by the low drumming of thunder. Soon the light began to fail, turning a dusky green. A storm was coming. Morhion tilted his head back, letting the wind tangle through his long hair. He loved storms. Like all wizards, he had a passion for gaudy displays of power.

Eventually the travelers realized they were not going to make Hill's Edge before dark. Morhion raised a hand, signaling the party to a halt. "We had better find shelter for the night," he advised.

They dismounted and began scouting to either side of the Dusk Road. It was almost dark when Jewel called out over the rising gale. The thief led the others into a nearby aspen grove where slender, leafless trees danced in the wind. In the center of the grove, in a massive granite outcrop, was the dim mouth of a cave. Just then, a bolt of lightning rent the sky, and the first cold drops of rain began to fall.

"I checked it out," Jewel shouted above the roar of the storm. "It's dry and goes back only a dozen paces. Plus," she added with a grin, "it doesn't appear to be inhabited."

Tethering the horses under the shelter of a tall pine, they headed into the cave. They spread their bedrolls on the sandy floor and soon had a cheerful fire burning, making the place warm and almost snug. Mari volunteered to cook and was soon stirring a bubbling pot.

Cormik rubbed his chubby hands gleefully. "So, what are we having for supper, Mari? Poached pheasant eggs seasoned with saffron? Braised fillet of young wyvern? Or perhaps"—he shivered with anticipation—"hummingbird tongues in a reduction of white wine and cloves?"

"Stew," Mari replied flatly. "We're having stew."

"Stew?" Cormik repeated the word distastefully. "I'm not sure what that is, but I must say I really don't care for the sound of it."

Apparently he didn't care for the taste of it either. While everyone else ate heartily, Cormik picked at the contents of the wooden bowl in his lap, periodically letting out a despondent sigh. He clutched his expansive stomach. "I'm going to waste away to nothing, you know."

As usual, everyone ignored him.

The fire was burning low and they had just lain down to sleep when the whinnies of frightened horses drifted through the mouth of the cave.

"It's probably just the storm," Mari whispered, "but they sound really upset."

Morhion stood up. "I'll go." Wrapping his cloak tightly around himself, he headed out into the stormy night.

Cold rain lashed at Morhion, and in moments he was soaked to the skin. Every few seconds, a white flash of lightning tore apart the darkness. He struggled against the violent wind, finally reaching the tree where they had tethered the horses. The animals were pawing at the ground, snorting and rolling their eyes. Morhion peered into the night but could see nothing save the wildly swaying trees. He stroked the horses, calming them, and led them around the tree where they would be more protected. Instructing his onyx stallion, Tenebrous, to keep an eye on the other beasts, Morhion headed back.

He stepped inside the cave and instantly knew that something was wrong.

The cave was silent and dark, the air acrid with the stench of smoke, as if the fire had been hastily kicked out. With a whispered word, Morhion conjured a pale sphere of magelight in his hand. Even before its faint, purple glow filled the cave, he knew what he would see.

Mari, Kellen, Cormik, and Jewel were gone.

The cave's sandy floor was churned up, as if there had been some sort of struggle. Yet where had the assailants come from? And to where had his friends disappeared?

Cautiously, Morhion moved deeper into the cave. Then he saw it—a thin crack in the rear wall. He approached, examining the fissure more closely. It was the outline of a door. Something was jammed into the crack. He reached down to pluck out the tuft of dark fur that had kept the portal from shutting completely.

There was only one possible conclusion. Some sort of creature—or creatures—had abducted his companions. Without hesitating, Morhion pushed against the door. The ponderous slab of rock did not budge. He threw all his weight against it, but to no avail.

Morhion glowered at the door. He was a wizard, not a warrior. He was trained to use his mind, not his body. Kneeling, he examined the floor in front of the portal. A half-circle had been scratched into the sand. Blue eyes glittering, he rose. He studied the door for a moment more, then placed his hand precisely along the center of the slab's left edge. He pressed lightly. The door pivoted smoothly on a central axis, revealing a dark opening beyond. He allowed himself a brief smile of victory, then plunged into the passageway. Magelight bobbing before him, Morhion moved swiftly down a twisting stone tunnel.

Soon he realized he was traveling at a downward angle, deep into the bones of the world.

In his haste, he nearly tripped over the corpse. He bent down in dread, fearing the body might be that of one of his friends. It was not. Whatever the creature was, it had been dead for several days. The sweet scent of decay rose from the corpse in sickening waves. The being's form was so twisted—a grotesque melange of dark fur, sharp teeth, and rippling flesh—that it could not possibly have lived and functioned like this. Morhion did not know what sort of beast this had once been, but something had distorted its body, molding it into this hideous shape as it died.