"Ready?"

Of course. Unlike you humans, cats do not need to pack before they can begin a journey. Our coats and weapons come permanently attached. He extended his razor-sharp claws for emphasis. It's much more convenient that way.

Being a practical-minded woman, Evaine had to agree.

Leaving the snug house behind, they set off northward. Bare winter branches stood out against the rose-colored morning sky, tracing dark shapes in the air like a jumble of arcane runes. Evaine and Gamaliel quickly fell into their accustomed traveling habits. The great cat loped soundlessly ahead, scouting the terrain for danger, while the sorceress kept her eyes open for any interesting herbs or bushes. Though most plants of magical use were dormant in winter, there were a few of value that could be gathered at this time of year. Into Evaine's pouches went juniper berries, holly leaves, and snowheart blooms. These last were rare crimson flowers that grew only beneath a shroud of newly fallen snow.

Come dusk, Evaine was thoroughly exhausted. Her joints felt stiff and cold despite her heavy coat. Yet the day had gone more smoothly than she might have expected. She and Gamaliel had made good time, putting nearly a half-dozen leagues behind them. The fresh air and exercise seemed to invigorate her. Her cheeks showed patches of pink where shadows had gathered only that morning.

Deciding it would be safe to leave the sorceress unattended for a short while, Gamaliel bounded off between the trees into the fading purple twilight. Evaine busied herself setting up their camp beneath the sheltering boughs of an ancient fir tree. She laid a pile of dried wood inside a ring of stones, debating whether she should ignite it with a spell or by more mundane methods. Several days had passed since her candle-lighting incantation had caused searing pain, and that incident was still fresh in her mind. However, she would have no choice but to cast far more potent magics in the days ahead.

"There's no point in putting it off any longer, Evaine," she muttered to herself.

She took a deep breath, then began reciting the spell, fashioning intricate but long-familiar gestures with strong, large-knuckled hands. The final word of the spell hung on the air like the tone of a bell. As it faded, Evaine felt a sudden rush of heat. Panic clutched her heart, but a moment later she found herself laughing.

"Next time, don't sit so close to the fire, silly," she chided herself. She let out a sigh of relief. The spell had worked. And there had been no surge of pain. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

A shadow stole into the circle of flickering firelight, green-gold eyes flashing.

Care for some supper? the magical cat inquired, dropping two sleek, silvery shapes into Evaine's lap.

"Fish," she noted, picking up the two big rainbow trout "My, what a surprise."

Don't look a gift fish in the mouth, Evaine.

She laughed, pulling out her knife to clean the fish. "I wouldn't dream of it."

It was midmorning two days later when they arrived at their destination.

The standing stone rested in the middle of a small clearing, atop a low circular mound littered with frost-painted leaves. It was a rough, irregular slab of black porphyry, about the height of a man. Spiraling, mazelike symbols were carved into the stone's surface, though their meanings were beyond Evaine's ken. The stone seemed not to have weathered much in the ninety years since she had last set foot in this clearing. She did not know whether to find that remarkable or disturbing.

She settled for interesting. She needed to remember an incantation she had heard only once before, spoken by her first master almost a century ago, in a long-dead language whose name she had never known. Evaine forced a grin. The uncertainties were what made life worth living, she reminded herself.

What is this place? Gamaliel's thoughts spoke in her mind. The great cat stalked warily around the base of the mound, whiskers twitching. There is magic here. Old magic. I can smell it on the air.

Evaine nodded as she rummaged through her pack, assembling the items she would need. "This is a very ancient place, Gam. Only a handful of these standing stones remain, scattered about Faerun. No one is certain who built them, or even what sort of people they might have been. But one thing is certain. They were powerful magicians. I doubt there are any alive today who could forge a stone such as this."

I imagine you might, if you put your mind to it.

Evaine scratched the cat's ears affectionately. "Now I remember why I like you so much," she laughed.

Gamaliel closed his eyes in pleasure. How could you have forgotten?

The sun was high overhead in the pale winter sky by the time Evaine had everything prepared for the spell. As she and Gamaliel ascended the mound, the midday light seemed to grow curiously dim. Soon it proved difficult to see anything but the rough black stone that loomed before them.

"Here, Gam, hold this in your left hand."

The cat winked his eyes in mild annoyance. His form blurred. A moment later the barbarian stood next to the sorceress.

"That assumes I have a hand to hold things with, Evaine," Gamaliel rumbled.

"Which now you do," Evaine replied smoothly. She pressed a single, dark green leaf into his hand. She placed a similar leaf into a small hollow carved in the side of the stone. Next she used a glistening powder of crushed crystal to trace a large spiral incised in the center of the stone. Finally she scattered the crimson petals of a dozen snow-heart blooms. A faint, delicately sweet fragrance rose from them. Evaine took a deep breath. Facing Gamaliel, she reached out and tightly gripped his right hand.

"Now, don't let go of my hand, Gam, not for anything. And I mean anything. All right?"

He nodded. "As you wish."

Evaine swallowed hard, closing her eyes. She had spent the last three days trying to recall the long-forgotten words. It had not been easy, and she couldn't be certain she had remembered them all, or even that she had remembered their correct pronunciation. She tried not to think of the consequences if she made a mistake with even a single word. At the least, the spell would simply fail. At the worst, she and Gamaliel would discover what it felt like to be turned inside out.

She began the incantation.

Strangely fluid, almost inhuman-sounding words rose and fell in a trilling cascade. The queer syllables were even harder to enunciate than Evaine had imagined. In moments her throat was aching, her lips numb. She ignored the dull sensations. Once begun, the incantation had to be finished.

Only once, for a single, terrifying moment, did she falter. The strange, meaningless words seemed to fly from her mind as she lost her place. Panicking, she could feel her concentration slipping. She couldn't remember the spell!

Suddenly she felt a reassuring pressure against her right hand and a calming presence invade her mind. It spoke no words, but instead filled her with a feeling of confidence. She drew in a shuddering breath, feeling her panic recede. The words of magic tumbled from her lips once again. She sent a mental message of gratitude to Gamaliel.

She spoke the last word of the spell. Suddenly the whole world went black.

The clearing was gone, as well as the sky above. The only sensation was a blast of cruel, bone-numbing cold. It felt as if all her flesh were being stripped away, leaving only her bones, bare and exposed to the malevolent chill. And yet, faintly, almost imperceptibly, she sensed a warmth in her hand and held on tightly.

Forms rushed out of the darkness.