Emriana rolled backward, slipping down the inside of the wall, evading whatever spell had been intended for her.

The girl found herself in a thicket, mostly underbrush and vines, but she could see open field just a little toward the interior of the estate. Behind her, muffled by the wall, she could make out the sounds of people arguing, and she did not want to wait around to see if the trio of pursuers maintained the chase. She pushed through the foliage and into the field beyond, which stretched for quite a distance toward the main house, easily seen atop a central hill.

Perhaps a hundred paces away, a contingent of mounted soldiers were headed straight toward her. They had weapons out.

There was a crash behind Emriana, and she turned back in time to see Lak dropping to the ground at the base of the wall. He rolled to his feet as the woman settled easily to the ground beside him. Both of them began to advance on her.

Run to the soldiers! Hetta insisted. They will know your name and protect you. Go now!

Without hesitating, Emriana darted into the open, running with the last reserves of her energy right toward the soldiers, all but one of whom wore red, black, and gold livery. The one exception was an immense man sitting atop a huge destrier, both he and his horse sheathed in polished mail from head to toe. He brought up the rear, his mount laboring to keep up with the smaller, faster horses of the House guards. Behind Emriana, she could hear a hiss of vexation, but she didn't bother turning around to see if anyone followed. Her eyes were focused on those weapons before her, bearing down on her position.

"I yield!" she cried out, keeping her hands in the air as she ran. When she was only a few strides away, she stumbled and knelt in the grass, holding her hands high and to either side. "I yield," she repeated, thoroughly spent.

The soldiers encircled her on their horses, leveling spears at her head or aiming crossbows from the saddle. Emriana flinched, but otherwise all she could do was pant in exhaustion.

"You are trespassing, girl," one of the guards said, eyeing her. "We normally flog for that offense."

"Please," Emriana said, looking fearfully at the guard. "I must speak with Ariskrit Darowdryn. She will know me."

The soldier snorted in derision. "I seriously doubt that," he said. "Lady Darowdryn values her privacy very much, so you can just turn around and hop back over the wall."

"Please!" Emriana repeated. "I promise that I am not lying to you! My name is Emriana Matrell, granddaughter of Hetta Matrell, and I must see the lady!"

The soldier was shaking his head, obviously unwavering in his resolve to keep riffraff away from the lords and ladies of the manor, when the huge mounted knight arrived. He threw a leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, huffing and puffing. The guard leader turned and saluted. "She claims to know Lady Darowdryn, m'lord, but she is obviously just a common street rat, looking for a handout. I was about to give her a chance to bolt, but she is pushing her luck."

The huge man strode past the soldier, staring straight at Emriana, slipping his gloves off his hands before removing his helmet. Great white mustaches settled down past his chin as he gazed intently at the girl kneeling before him. It was Tharlgarl "Steel-fists" Darowdryn.

"Em?" the man said. "Emriana Matrell?" He turned and waved away the soldiers. "She speaks the truth. Let her up."

Immediately, the contingent of guards withdrew their weapons and allowed Emriana to rise. She did so on shaky legs, feeling a rush of emotions coursing through her as she approached the man.

"I-I was afraid you wouldn't remember me," the girl said, greatly relieved. "I hoped, but I wasn't sure."

"Goodness, but you're a mess," Tharlgarl said, holding out a hand to help steady her.

The dam of emotions broke then, and tears flooded Emriana's eyes. She tumbled into the huge man's arms, hugging him tightly.

He wrapped his steel-clad arms around her gently and let her cry. "Easy," he said, over and over again. It felt so good to the girl that she stayed there for a long time. When she had regained her composure, Emriana pulled back and drew a filthy sleeve across her face. She sniffed once and looked at Steelfists.

"I've had the worst day," she began.

Vambran followed the woman with the piercing emerald eyes without saying anything. They walked together along a path that paralleled a watercourse through the heart of the Nunwood. The lieutenant still wasn't certain why she had returned later that day and fetched him from the cage, but when she had asked him to stroll with her, he had accepted quickly, though it meant leaving the others behind for a while. He wanted every chance to convince her to avert a war.

She led the way in silence away from the great rock, taking the mercenary down to the forest floor, where her footfalls were nearly silent. She seemed to revel in the greenness of it all, stopping occasionally and drawing deep breaths with her eyes closed in pure contentment. Vambran tried to do the same, though it was hard to appreciate the beauty of the moment when there was so much going on, and so little time to resolve the cascade of events that seemed to be falling all around him.

The thought of running never seriously crossed the man's mind, for he would not leave his companions behind, and he knew that she knew it. He did consider the possibility that he had been led out away from the others so that he would not be a witness to some dire fate for them, but he did not see the druids as being so devious. If they had wanted to kill the other five Crescents, they would have done so.

"You are wrong, you know," the woman said, turning to the lieutenant at last, a hint of a grin on her face. Vambran shook his head, not understanding her, but she added, "I have been to Shining Arrabar."

That had been the last thing the lieutenant had expected her to say. He waited for her to explain.

"I went there once, perhaps twenty summers ago. Your Lord Wianar and I were not seeing eye to eye over the encroachment of his population into my woods. I explained to him that, regardless of whether or not the elves had departed toward Evermeet, the humans would not be expanding into the Chondalwood."

Vambran gasped. "You!" he said, dumbfounded. He remembered the incident she spoke of clearly. He had been six years old, and there was a celebration taking place at the Generon. He could not have cared less at the time, but the festivities were to honor a "new era in expansionism." Right in the middle of Lord Wianar's speech, a woman dressed in verdant green clothing had hopped onto the stage and warned him against encroaching into the forest. Vambran still remembered the final warning: If death is all you can understand after all these years, feel free to pursue the matter. He had only learned later that the woman was Shinthala Deepcrest, a hierophant druid infamous throughout the Reach.

The realization that he had tongue-lashed one of the most powerful members of the druidic order back at the great rock gave Vambran serious pause. "You," he repeated, barely able to breathe the word.

"Yes," Shinthala said, obviously pleased with the reaction she had garnered from him.

Vambran, flustered, mumbled and stumbled over his words for a moment before managing to get out, "I was simply trying to make you see that you do not know me, my heart, and to make judgments about me based solely on your preconceptions is a dangerous fallacy. I meant no disrespect, Elder Deepcrest."

Shinthala waved his explanation away. "Of course you did," she said. "But I deserved it. Do not fret, Son of Arrabar. I find your passion, your dedication to your ideals, refreshing. And you remind me that I should not label all others by their outward appearances. I offer apology for losing my temper before." She turned then and walked on for a while, allowing Vambran a moment to gather his wits.