Jewel studied the stone, an intent expression on her ageless face. "The facets refract the firelight beautifully, but the center of the gem is dark. That's strange. Given this type of cut, the center of the stone should be alive with light."

Morhion thought about this. "Thank you. Jewel," he said finally. "I'm not certain how, but I think that's important."

"Always glad to be of help, love."

They ate dinner in silence, each of them wondering the same thing: How far ahead of them was Caledan? As the others readied themselves for sleep, Morhion took the chance to slip away.

The mage circled around a jagged rock outcropping to be certain he was out of earshot of the others. He did not need to call out. A blast of cold air whipped the leaf litter into a miniature cyclone, and out of the swirling leaves drifted a vaporous, armor-clad figure Morhion knew well. "You are wise to come to me, mage," Serafi intoned in sepulchral voice. "Just because we have forged a new pact, it does not mean that our old pact is binding no longer."

"A fact of which I am well aware," Morhion said bitterly.

Serafi drifted closer. Pale frost tinged nearby leaves of gold and crimson. "I am angry with you, mage. You risked yourself foolishly in the ruined city. You nearly perished. Have you forgotten that your body belongs to me?"

Morhion shrugged indifferently. "And what if I die, Serafi? There is nothing you can do then." The spectral knight's laughter echoed malevolently from all directions. "Oh, you are wrong about that, mage. I have dwelt long in the twilight world of the dead, and I am powerful here. Die without granting me your body, and I will make every moment of your eternal after-existence one of pure and utter torment." Morhion shuddered despite himself. He drew out a small knife and made a cut on his forearm. Dark blood welled forth. He was glad for the pain; it cleared his head. "Get on with it, spirit," he snapped. "I cannot be long. The others will wonder where I've gone."

Serafi knelt and began to drink rapturously. "Ah, yes…" he moaned. "Exquisite. But soon I will no longer need to drink to feel the sweet warmth of blood. Soon it will flow in my own veins. Your body will be mine, Morhion. Then, perhaps, that of the woman you call Mari will be mine as well . ."

"What?" Morhion hissed.

"Do not play the innocent with me, Morhion," Serafi said mockingly. "I know you desire her." The knight's laughter echoed again on the cold air. "Ah, but you have this perverse need to torture yourself, don't you? Yes, you must always deny yourself that for which you long. Well, be certain of this, Morhion—if you are too foolish to claim her, then once your body is mine, I will."

Crimson rage flared before Morhion's eyes. He snatched his arm from the spirit's chill grip. "Get away from me," he snarled. "Your drink is done. Our pact is fulfilled for this moon. Now begone."

Serafi rose, eyes glowing hotly. "As you wish, mage, But I will not go very far."

Before Morhion could spit a curse at the spectral knight, the frigid wind gusted again, and Serafi was gone. For a long moment the mage stood still, breathing deeply, trying to regain his composure. The spirit's mocking words echoed in his mind, words made all the more horrible because there was a shard of truth in them. However, those were feelings Morhion had banished long ago. It is a mage's lot to dwell in solitude, he told himself. He repeated the words again, and again, until at last his heart quieted Then he made his way through the grove, hurrying back to camp before the others noticed his absence.

Two days later they reached the small trading town of Triel.

It was more of a fortified stockade than a proper town, but they were able to buy fresh supplies, and at least there was one inn where they could spend a night indoors. As in every town, there were thieves in Triel, and it didn't take Cormik and Jewel long to ferret them out. The two returned to their rendezvous point in the town square.

"We're getting closer to Stiletto's base of operations," Cormik told Morhion and Kellen.

Jewel nodded in agreement. "The thieves here were extorted into paying tribute to Stiletto months before anyone had even so much as heard the name in Hill's Edge. We're definitely not far away now." Then perhaps there is a chance we may yet reach the Shadowstar before Caledan," Morhion said. Mari returned then. She had gone to discuss news with the local lord.

"How did it go?" Cormik inquired. "Strangely," Mari said, rolling her eyes. "Lord Elvar's the most paranoid man I've ever met. He makes you look as svelte as a willow switch, Cormik, yet he's convinced he's going to starve to death. However, he's less worried than he was a few days ago."

"Why is that?" Jewel asked. Mari went on excitedly. "It seems rats were plaguing Elvar's granary. Then a stranger came to town—a stranger who got rid of the rats by conjuring dark cats with the music of his pipes. What's more, the stranger stayed on for a while at Elvar's insistence. He left just two days ago." Her eyes flashed brilliantly. "Caledan's been here."

"I know," Kellen said quietly. He pointed to an object in a dim corner. It was a hand reaching out of the cobbles from which it had been forged. It was clenched in agony and despair, like the handd of a drowning man. Mari shook her head in sorrow. "Caledan," she whispered.

"It's almost as if he's leaving us these signs deliberately."

"Yes, " Morhion echoed quietly. "But if so, what do they mean?"

* * * * *

K'shar pushed aside the tangled witchgrass and gazed upon the half-metamorphosed milestone with curious golden eyes. Without doubt, this was the work of Caldorien's twisted shadow magic. For three nights and two days, the half-elf had been running swiftly through the Reaching Woods, stopping a mere half-dozen times, and then only long enough to sip water from a clear brook or to swallow a handful of acorns or late berries. Now blood surged hotly in his veins. He had found the trail.

Quickly, he examined the footprints pressed into the soft earth around the milestone. Five people had gathered here: a strong yet graceful woman, a tall man, a child, a heavy man, and a small woman who walked lithely but with a slight foot drag—perhaps due to age or injury. K'shar could guess the identities of at least three of them. The strong woman was Mari Al'maren; the tall man was the mage Morhion Gen'dahar; the child was Caldorien's son, Kellen. The renegade Al'maren was indeed trying to find Caldorien, and it appeared she had help. K'shar regretted that she had a child with her children were blameless creatures, and far too often paid for the crimes of their elders—but that did not matter He would let nothing stand between himself and his prey

As the autumn day wore on, K'shar loped easily down the Dusk Road, stretching out his long legs. From time to time, spying a traveler approaching, he would plunge into the thickets beside the highway, moving silently until it was safe to return to the road once more. K'shar preferred to make his way through the world unseen.

While he felt no hunger, by midday he knew he needed sustenance, or the swiftness of his pace would suffer. Halting, he scanned a hedgerow with keen eyes. Suddenly he plunged a hand into the bracken with uncanny speed. When he withdrew his hand, a fawn-colored rabbit struggled in his grip. K'shar spoke a gentle word, passing a hand before the creature's face. The animal fell still, gazing at him with trusting brown eyes. It felt nothing when he snapped its neck with a precise twist of his hand. There was no time for a fire, so K'shar ate the rabbit raw. While the half-elf respected all animals, he felt no regret in killing the rabbit. It was the lot of the hunted to sustain the hunter. And one day, when he died, his own body would feed the grass that the rabbit ate. Such was the nature of the chase.