"Listle, I see a meadow not far ahead," the skeletal paladin said calmly.

The elf nodded. "I'm aiming for it."

The wind whipped Kern's hair wildly about.

"Here we go!" Listle cried, pulling on the pair of tassels that helped her steer the carpet.

Kern tightened his grip on the golden fringe. The tree tops flew by mere inches below. He could see the meadow now, perhaps a quarter mile ahead.

"We're not going to make it!" he yelled over the roar of the wind.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Listle snapped. She concentrated on keeping the magic carpet steady. Just a little farther…

Suddenly a dead tree loomed before them, stretching its gnarled limbs higher than the surrounding foliage. Listle jerked hard on the tassels. There was a loud sound of rending cloth as a sharp branch punched through the fabric.

"The carpet's unraveling!" Kern shouted as they plummeted toward the clearing.

Sure enough, a thread from one end of the carpet had caught on the dead tree, and now the magical silk was unwinding behind them like a skein of yarn. The three had to crowd closer as the surface area of the flying carpet rapidly dwindled.

Listle yanked even harder on the golden tassels. The carpet managed to stay aloft for only a few more seconds. Then the last of the thread ran out.

Kern, Listle, and Miltiades fell through the air…

… and landed a half-second later on soft, dry, sweet-smelling grass.

Confused, Kern sat up, wondering why he hadn't been knocked dead by the fall. A glistening thread of silk settled slowly to the treetops, its end draped down over a dazed-looking Listle.

"The carpet managed to bear our weight until we were only a few feet above the ground," Miltiades offered in answer to their bewildered looks.

Listle sighed as she picked up one end of the silken thread. "I think this is it for the magic carpet," she said glumly. "Unless knitting also happens to be one of a paladin's special skills."

"I doubt it," Kern said with disdain.

The three gathered their scattered possessions. With a few magical words, Miltiades restored their three horses to their natural form. Kern's palfrey and Listle's gray pranced and snorted excitedly, apparently no worse the wear for having been miniaturized. Eritophenes, of course, was quite used to the experience.

They rode across the dun-colored meadow toward the snow-topped mountains. Now that they were here, Kern wondered how they would ever find Evaine. He and Listle discussed their options. Daile had said the scene revealed by Miltiades' communication gem lay close to the center of the mountains, so that gave them a general direction. Once they were in the actual vicinity, Listle thought she could whip up some spells to help them locate the sorceress.

Throughout this discussion, Miltiades had been quiet, but now the undead paladin spoke up.

"We will find her," he said confidently. "I will know when she is near."

However, just how he would know, he did not say. Listle and Kern exchanged a curious glance.

The sun was sinking toward the western horizon when they reached the forest that blanketed the lower slopes. Deciding it would be best to camp among the shelter of the trees, they decided to press on a bit farther. They guided their mounts down a winding trail, past silent stands of fir and ghost-pale aspen.

They had not gone far when sharp, ringing sounds broke the sylvan stillness. All three knew the familiar clangor of steel on steel. There was a battle going on not far ahead.

"Come on!" Kern cried, urging his mount into a gallop.

"Kern, shouldn't we be a little more cautious?" Listle called after him, to no avail. Muttering a few choice words about his lack of common sense, she rode after him, Miltiades close behind.

Moments later they burst into a circular glade open to the slate-gray sky. Kern halted for a second, taking in the scene.

A frail old man was battling a huge misshapen creature. Even as Kern watched, the old man's blade-a heavy, antique broadsword-clashed loudly with the creature's spiked club. Somehow, the old man was managing to hold his own. He was wizened and ancient-looking, his flowing hair and beard as white as ivory. He wore no armor, only a simple robe of dove gray. Even at this distance, Kern could see his sharp blue eyes sparking like steel against a whetstone.

The creature bellowed. With its massive, ten-foot frame, warty hide, and blazing purple eyes, Kern guessed it to be an ogre. The monster raised its huge club for a crushing blow.

Drawing the Hammer of Tyr from his belt, Kern spurred his mount forward, thundering into the glade. Listle and Miltiades were not far behind.

The ogre paused, looking up in dull-witted surprise. Then it snarled nastily, baring jagged black fangs. It lurched forward, ready to engage its new enemies.

"Xaraxa!" Listle cried out as she tossed a small ball of pitch mixed with bat fur at the monster. It exploded, and the creature roared, shaking its head, as Listle's spell blinded it.

The ogre swung its club wildly. Kern easily parried the blow. Upon striking his holy warhammer, the club splintered. Miltiades took advantage of the creature's confusion to deal it a blow with his sword, cutting a gash in the ogre's side. Its howl of pain was short-lived. Kern swung his hammer in a glowing arc, striking the ogre full in the chest. The creature toppled and did not rise again.

Quickly Kern dismounted and hurried to the old man, who leaned on the hilt of his broadsword.

"Are you all right, sir?" he inquired deferentially.

The old man snorted in disgust. "I was, until you and your overeager friends here showed up."

Kern stared at him in astonishment.

The old man's shaggy eyebrows bristled like gigantic, snowy caterpillars. "Fighting that rock-brained ogre was the most fun I'd had in months." He tapped a bony finger against Kern's breastplate. "And then you had to come and spoil it all!"

"I-I'm sorry," Kern sputtered, completely taken aback. "I didn't know."

"Well, now you do," the old man grumbled, sheathing his rune-covered broadsword. He turned to retrieve a battered leather pack from the ground. "And I suppose now that you've ruined my sport, you'll be expecting to come share my fire and my supper as well. That way you can be certain you'll spoil my day completely."

Kern stared after the old man, entirely at a loss for words.

The old man glared back. "Well, are you coming or aren't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he started across the glade. "Young people haven't a thimbleful of sense these days," he muttered into his beard.

Kern exchanged a puzzled look with Listle and Miltiades, then shrugged. There didn't seem to be much to do except to follow, so, leading his horse, he trailed along behind the stranger.

Despite his thin and frail appearance, the old man proved fleet-footed. Soon Kern was huffing noisily, and even Listle seemed to be having a hard time keeping pace. The old man moved farther and farther ahead of them until he finally vanished among the trees. Kern exchanged a worried look with Listle, wondering if he had purposely lost them.

The sky was growing purple with twilight when Kern caught sight of a warm, flickering glow between the trees. Moments later, he and the others stepped into a small clearing protected by the boughs of a huge fir tree.

"About time you showed up," the old man said testily. "It seems young people are getting slower these days as well as duller." He sat by a cheerful fire, stirring something in a small iron pot. Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful. Kern's stomach growled, a noisy reminder that he hadn't eaten anything since the few bites of flatbread that had served as his rather inadequate breakfast.

"Well, sit down already." The old man gestured to a fallen log. Kern and Listle sat obediently. Miltiades remained standing, as was his custom, eliciting a scowl from their host.