Freezing water washed over Felitïa’s shivering body and retreated, then again with the next wave. But she paid it no mind. It wasn’t important. They’d lost.

Corvinian was gone.

Will-Breaker.

The Volg had just walked straight at her. Ignored everything she threw at him. Her spells wouldn’t work.

No, I think someone made a mistake. You are no Will-Breaker.

He had towered over her. He was smaller than the one in Mesone—at least as best she could remember—but still huge, and his wings dwarfed the rest of his body, making him seem even bigger still. He glanced down at her as he advanced, his white-bearded muzzle twisting into a mockery of a smile. His golden horns shone in the moonlight.

Definitely a mistake.

And he swatted her away like she was an insect. Perhaps to him, she was.

Pathetic and weak.

She landed in the water and, as she tried to rise, he snatched Corvinian, the yellow energy cancelling the blue. Helpless, she watched as Corvinian struggled and screamed, as the Volg called to his companion, and as they flew away—all before she could get even get to her feet.

You are no Will-Breaker.

Why did people keep calling her that?

Perhaps he was right. The Darkers, the Volg in Mesone, they all had the wrong person. Whoever this Will-Breaker was, it wasn’t her. The Volg had entered her mind and she couldn’t stop him. The walls of the Room shattered at his casual thought. He tore apart all her focus and concentration.

And she could do nothing to push him out. Absolutely nothing to defend herself.

Pathetic and weak.

One final attack on her mind had sent her falling back into the water again.

Compared to his powers, she really was nothing more than an insect to him.

“Rudiger! Over here! I need help with Stavan!”

Zandrue’s voice, hoarse and distant.

She should get up. If she lay here too long, she’d freeze to death. Part of her almost welcomed that possibility. But no. She had to get everyone together, try to find a way to chase after the Volgs.

Felitïa stood and looked about. Rudiger was stumbling up the hill towards Zandrue and one of DeSeloön’s men—she couldn’t tell who. Near where Corvinian had last stood, Hang and Greminy lay on the beach. Felitïa stumbled over to them. They stirred as she reached them.

Confusion and fear invaded her head. Anger, disappointment, self-recrimination, more. All blurred together. The walls wouldn’t reform; the Room in her head was just... She couldn’t describe it. There was no floor anymore either. Just open space filled with indistinct blobs of feelings. She couldn’t even tell whose were whose. If it weren’t for the fact Hang and Greminy—and DeSeloön a little farther along the shore—were the only ones physically close to her, she would have thought there were dozens of people around her.

Felitïa stumbled back.

“Your Highness, are you all right?” Hang was getting up and reaching for her.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, backing away from him a bit. The feelings were so strong. They swarmed around her in the Room. Round and round, dizzying.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

She didn’t believe it. She was clearly hurting, hunched over, clutching her head like that. Should she press the issue? Hold off for now? The Princess would probably...

Wait, those weren’t her thoughts. Those were Hang’s. They were mixing with her own.

“Sergeant Siltons, Corporal Merrin, report.” Captain DeSeloön was limping over to them.

“A few bruises, sir, but nothing serious,” Felitïa replied. She had a suspicion Hang said it, too, but she wasn’t quite sure.

“What the hell?” Hang said. She didn’t say it with him. At least, she was pretty certain she didn’t.

“My lady, you seem unwell,” she said to herself.

No! No, that was DeSeloön, damn it!

Wasn’t it?

What had the Volg done to her mind?

A hand touched her shoulder, but she pushed it aside. “Please, stand back away from me for a few moments.” That was definitely her. “I need a moment to regain control. Please!”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to focus. First... What did she need to do first?

A floor.

Yes, the Room needed the floor back. It took huge effort, but slowly a bit of floor reformed. It wasn’t much—a couple subjective feet in diameter—but it was enough for her to sit on—well, in that subjective way sitting even happened in the Room. After all...

No. Focus.

Just focus.

Why was it every time she thought she’d worked through her concentration issues, something happened which showed how much she really hadn’t?

There was that lack of focus again.

She took another deep breath. A bit of wall took shape again. Like the floor, it wasn’t much, but it was something. It could help. She could use it to start organising things, separating the thoughts. Most importantly, separating herself from the others. She started the piece of wall rotating around her, knocking aside anything that wasn’t her.

That was new. She’d never done that before!

Felitïa opened her eyes and smiled. The three soldiers were staring at her, their faces and thoughts a mixture of concern and confusion. Their thoughts were still incredibly strong—stronger than she could remember having ever received thoughts since that first day at the well—and they still blended together, but at least she could tell her own self now.

“My lady?” DeSeloön said.

“I’m okay. For now.”

He nodded. “Very well. We need to get back to camp. Merrin, Siltons, go. I’ll help Felitïa.”

“Sir!” the other two intoned and headed away from the beach.

DeSeloön held back a moment.

“Honestly, I’ll be fine,” Felitïa said. “I don’t need any help getting back to camp.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “May I inquire, however, what just happened here?”

“It’s hard to explain,” she said.

“My lady, if I’m to protect you, I need to understand what is happening.”

“It’s a little late for protection now, don’t you think?” she snapped and stormed away from him.

Her words stung him. His remorse was battering at her.

She stopped and looked back. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just a little out of sorts.”

DeSeloön straightened up. “No apology necessary. I suspect we’re all out of sorts at the moment. Shall we join the others?”

Gods, if she was having such trouble keeping herself together around just a couple people, what would it be like with everyone around?

* * * * *

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

Meleng recoiled, almost dropping the cloth he was using to try to clean the scratches on Felitïa’s cheek. He’d never heard her speak like that before.

Felitïa gasped. “Oh, Meleng, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t me. That was...” Her gaze turned towards Zandrue, who was pacing back and forth by the wagon. Where he’d lain Sam and Stavan down.

“That’s fine,” he said. “That’s okay. I understand.”

Felitïa had been doing this since she came back up the hill, periodically speaking for other people. Saying the exact words they were about to say. When Captain DeSeloön asked Meleng for a report on Sam’s condition, she had responded before he could. She had told him exactly what Meleng would have said and went on to tell him about Stavan just as Meleng tried to do that. All without having any prior knowledge of the two men’s conditions. It was unnerving.

But also fascinating! What was it like to hear other people’s thoughts? He’d wanted to ask her, but Zandrue was always around and she would probably say something disparaging, so he hadn’t bothered.

He raised the cloth to her face again.

“But really,” she said. “Don’t bother yourself. You should tend to Sam and Stavan.”

“I’ve done all I can with them. They’re sleeping now.”

Sam had taken a blow to the side of his head. His right ear was gone, as were several layers of skin on his cheek. He’d been lucky, though. Lying face first in the snow had helped staunch much of the blood flow. Meleng had cleaned the wound as best he could and wrapped Sam’s head in bandages.

Stavan was far worse.

Rudiger had been the first one to return up the hill after the battle, carrying Stavan in his arms. Blood was pooling from the stump at Stavan’s right shoulder where his arm used to be. Some tattered bits of cloak had been wrapped there to stop the blood, but they weren’t working.

Once they had lain Stavan in the cart beside Sam, Meleng set about trying to bind the wound better. There was blood everywhere, seeping into the wood. Into the sacks and chests. Sam’s clothes.

“What happened to him?” Meleng asked.

“Don’t know, didn’t see,” Rudiger replied. “Zandrue said something about the arm being dissolved away. But you should have heard him scream. Never knew a man could scream like that.”

Meleng was glad he hadn’t heard. He never wanted to hear something like that.

“I did hear it,” Felitïa said and Meleng snapped out of his reveries. “I didn’t know who it was, but I heard. Even felt it a little. You’re wise not wanting to hear something like that.”

She hadn’t been there at that time, yet now she was talking about it like she was. She must have heard it in his thoughts. He shuddered. How could something be so fascinating and so unnerving?

“Sorry,” she said. “I can’t help what I’m doing at the moment. Almost everything’s coming through. It’s all I can do to stop crying uncontrollably and screaming in rage. Go ahead. Clean the wound. I know you’re worried about infection, and you’re right to be.”

He dabbed the wet cloth on her cheek, wiping away the dirt and the blood there.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said. “You’re doing fine.”

“I guess,” he said. “It’s just...well...I’m not really trained for this. If I were a better...”

“Better wizard, yes, you could magically heal Stavan and everyone else. Like Agernon told you, you need to stop doubting yourself. And by the way, don’t be afraid to ask me about my telepathy. I know I can seem a bit secretive, but it comes from a lifetime of having to be. I’ll be happy to talk about it. Who knows? Maybe you can help me figure out things I haven’t been able to.”

“Oh, okay, I was wondering about...” he started.

“But it’s probably best to wait till I’m recovered a little more. I can’t concentrate at the moment. Five horses lost, sir. Damn. See? That was Greminy over there.” She pointed to where Greminy was reporting to DeSeloön. “Four burned in the initial attack. The other one broke two legs trying to run while hobbled. She was still alive when I found her. Must have been in terrible pain. I put her out of her misery. I mean, Greminy put her out of her misery.” Tears were forming in Felitïa’s eyes. “Oh gods, it was Simeria. Now DeSeloön wants to purchase replacement horses in Cromda. Poor Simeria.” Felitïa leaned forward, buried her face in Meleng’s shoulder, and began to cry.

Meleng hesitantly put his arms around her and held her. He had no idea what he should do or say to comfort her. He had always been terrible with these kinds of interactions. Truth was, he kind of wanted to cry himself. The full enormity of everything that had happened hadn’t quite resonated with him yet, though once it did, he’d need to find a secluded place to let his feelings out. Maybe he could talk to Jorvan about it? It dawned on him that he was probably telling Felitïa about it right now.

She raised her head. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t say... No, you should worry. I could blurt anything out right now. I know what I need. Something to focus on. We need to get Corvinian back. I’ll focus on that.” She let go of Meleng and wiped her face with the back of her hand—which got rid of the tears, but also smudged grime from her hand across it. So much for trying to clean her wound.

She snatched the cloth from his hand and used it to wipe her face. “Better?”

Meleng nodded.

“Captain!” Felitïa called out.

DeSeloön and Greminy turned to face her, snapping to attention as she approached them. “My lady?” DeSeloön said.

“You’re planning to make all haste to Arnor City.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“No,” Felitïa said.

“My lady, tonight has demonstrated that we are not equipped—”

“I know your reasons, Captain, but I said no. We’re going after Corvinian.”

“And just where would that be, my lady?”

“Wherever it happens to be. We have to find him. I’ll look everywhere if necessary. I will not leave him to the mercy of the Volgs.”

DeSeloön nodded. “Everywhere. That’s a very big place, my lady.”

“Don’t mock me, DeSeloön!”

“My apologies, my lady. I did not intend to mock. However, where do you plan to start? The Volgs could have gone anywhere.”

“We’ll start locally! We’ll…” Felitïa paused and scrunched her face in pain—or maybe concentration. Meleng couldn’t tell.

“My lady,” DeSeloön said, “when last seen, the Volgs were flying out over Lake Belone. Who knows where they’ve gone?”

“They can’t fly forever,” Zandrue said, coming over. “I’m with Felitïa. We should—”

“My point exactly,” DeSeloön interrupted her. “They can’t fly forever. Therefore, they had a specific destination in mind. Possibly a ship waiting for them out on the lake. Perhaps a location along the shoreline. Has it occurred to you that they must be receiving sanctuary from someone in Arnor? Are we supposed to board and search every ship on the lake? What of the ships that sail down the Tirin River? Shall we search every home in Quorge and Cromda, and every village from here to the Bay of Ras? When we don’t find them there, shall we expand our search to Mesdinine, Tyl, and Dorg?”

“We have to try,” Felitïa said, stumbling a bit. Zandrue reached out and held her arm to help her balance herself. “We have to try!”

DeSeloön stepped closer to her. “My lady, the boy is lost. You’re distraught. This is only natural.”

“Distraught?” Felitïa shoved him away from her. “You don’t know distraught until you have to feel it for everyone else as well!”

DeSeloön looked surprised as he recovered his footing, but he soon regained his composure.

Zandrue whispered something to Felitïa. Meleng couldn’t hear what, but it irritated Felitïa enough that she shoved Zandrue away from her as well.

“Oh, you’re one to talk about anger, Zandrue! Most of this anger is yours, you know!” Felitïa was shrieking now. “Gods, I can’t handle it! All of you in my head! Get out! Get out, get out, get out...” She dropped to her knees, sobbing and repeating the words over and over. Zandrue knelt beside her. Then Felitïa fell over, the side of her face hitting the snow.

Meleng jumped to his feet and rushed over. Zandrue lifted Felitïa’s head into her lap. Felitïa’s eyes were closed, but they flickered open as Meleng knelt beside them, then flickered closed again. They remained closed.

“The Volg did something to her mind,” Meleng said, taking another cloth from his scrip and using it to wipe Felitïa’s face.

Zandrue nodded. “She can’t control her telepathy right now. I’ve seen her overwhelmed before, but not like this.”

“She should have told me about her telepathy,” DeSeloön said.

Zandrue looked up at the army officer. “And if she had, would you have had a remarkable solution for right now or anything else that has happened?”

“Perhaps not,” DeSeloön acknowledged. “But nevertheless—”

“Well, you know now. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

DeSeloön took a second before replying, “As you wish. Siltons, on watch. Everyone else to bed. We continue as planned in the morning.” He turned back to Zandrue. “She will not object, I trust?”

Felitïa was starting to come round, and Zandrue helped her sit up. “We don’t really have much other choice, do we?” both Felitïa and Zandrue said together.

“No, we don’t, my lady.”

Before bed, Meleng checked on Sam and Stavan. Stavan’s wound was no longer bleeding as much, so he stitched it closed. It wasn’t easy, but he did his best. When done, he bandaged it back up.

As Meleng was preparing to sleep, Jorvan came and sat in the snow beside him. There was a distant look in the Isyar’s eyes as he stared up at the starry night sky. Meleng knew not to interrupt him in these moments of prayer, so waited for the Isyar to finish.

“How are you?” Jorvan said a few moments later.

Meleng sat beside him. “Okay, I guess. You?”

“Not good,” Jorvan said. “I failed.”

“We all failed tonight,” Meleng said. “It’s not your fault.”

Jorvan shook his head. “No. I was not here. I was alone. They...”

Meleng waited while Jorvan searched for the right words. The Isyar still had difficulty with the language sometimes.

“Ambushed me. I should not have walked away. I told Sam, but...”

Jorvan liked taking walks at night. Meleng knew he liked the cold, that it gave him to time to remember and think about his home in Isyaria.

“There was no way you could have known,” Meleng said. “I mean, they ambushed all of us. We were all taken by surprise.”

“But we were...separate. That is not good. We should be...together.”

Meleng shrugged. “Well, it’s done now. Can’t really go back.”

Jorvan took a deep breath and looked up into the sky again. “Tell me something good.”

Meleng grimaced. Was there anything good he could say? Especially when he felt so terrible himself? “Uh, well, uh, I had a spell go well. Sort of.”

“Good. Tell me.”

Meleng told Jorvan about the spell he’d used in the battle. Truthfully, he knew he had just been lucky. When Captain DeSeloön had come to him earlier in the evening asking about his magical capabilities, he had blurted out some ideas he had had about modifying the spell that had caused his book to burst back in Mesone. The Captain had been impressed and had immediately formulated a possible use for it should they find themselves in trouble. But Meleng hadn’t told him it was only an idea, never tested. He had expected that there would be time to refine it before it was actually needed. Doubtful DeSeloön had expected it, either. It had been pure luck that it had worked.

“Thank you,” Jorvan said. “You did good.”

“Well,” Meleng corrected him. “It’s you did well, not good.”

Jorvan smiled. “You did well. Thank you.”

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Meleng lay on the ground, wrapped in the remnants of his sleeping blanket, much of which had burned in the Volgs’ initial attack—lucky for him, it had been between him and the fire, so he was grateful even if it meant being cold now. He stared at the stars up above, pinpricks of light that seemed colder than the air around him. They twinkled more than normal, though that was due to the tears in his eyes distorting them. Time almost seemed to stand still. Frequently, he heard movement in the camp and glanced to see who it was: someone different every time. It seemed no one else was sleeping well, either.

Meleng tossed and turned, but still sleep did not come. At one point, he pulled a book out of his scrip to study a little. As luck would have it, it was the one that had been the basis of the spell he’d used on the wagon, the one that had fallen apart when he’d tried to impress Corvinian in Mesone. It nearly fell apart on him again now, and he barely managed to catch a couple of the pages that threatened to blow away in the wind. Closing the book again, he stuffed it back in his scrip, then went back to staring at the stars. Eventually, he did drift off to sleep and dreamt briefly of paper floating in the air. Each sheet had the same words scribbled on it: Why didn’t you save me?

The next morning, they packed up their things and started back along the road. Sam was still unconscious in the back of the wagon, so Greminy drove. Meleng sat in the back so he could tend to Sam and Stavan. Felitïa sat with him, and tried to help. She was distracted a lot, though she claimed that she was getting better. Something she referred to as the “Room” was partially rebuilt.

Rudiger walked beside Borisin, with Zandrue beside them walking her horse, Lucinda. No one actually rode today. Too many of them were without horses now, and the few left were injured. Meleng had lost his own horse, as had Felitïa. Three of the horses DeSeloön and his men used had also perished. Borisin was in bad shape. The stallion’s neck and much of his back was covered in red blisters and mottled-brown burns. His mane was completely gone. Lucinda’s snout was burnt and blackened along one side. Most of the other horses weren’t much better off. Only Jorvan’s horse seemed to have escaped any injury at all.

Everyone was reserved for most of the day. DeSeloön spoke to Jorvan early on, and Meleng overheard some of it. The captain was questioning Jorvan’s whereabouts in the battle.

Sam stirred briefly at that moment, drawing Meleng’s attention away, so he didn’t hear if anything else was said. Although Sam had stirred, he hadn’t woken. For a couple of moments, he thrashed about in his sleep, but then he was calm again. Meleng checked that the bandages on his head were secure and felt his forehead for a temperature. He seemed fine. Probably just bad dreams.

Zandrue was watching him and the two men. She walked alongside the wagon, Lucinda’s reins in one hand, her other hand on the wagon’s edge. When she saw him looking, she smiled.

Meleng blinked. She smiled? It looked an honest smile as well!

She must have seen something in his reaction. “Don’t get used to it.” She forced a chuckle.

Meleng sighed. Typical. He was turning back to tend Sam, when she spoke again. “They both took blows that were meant for me.” Her voice was quiet. “I should be the one lying there. I should be dead. Yet they lie there dying in my place.”

Meleng opened his mouth to try to say something comforting, but nothing came out.

“It was like a darkness. Inky blackness. Only noticeable in the night air because of the empty...nothingness where it was. It came from the orb. That fucking orb! DeSeloön told us to be careful of it. I should have known better. I knew he was a wizard. But I apparently can’t think straight around Volgs. You should have seen me in Mesone. But he looked like nothing more than a defenceless priest trapped by a block of ice! An easy stab through the heart. It would all be over with. And such a perfect hit it was, too. Right in. Anyone would have died instantly. But the bastard just laughed. The dagger came out clean. No blood. No wound left behind.”

Meleng stared in disbelief. That was an incredibly powerful effect to achieve. The thought of someone being capable of that was terrifying. Perhaps it had only been a mentalism effect: the Volg had made Zandrue believe she had stabbed him when she really hadn’t. Meleng didn’t know a lot about mentalism, but he was sure that would be easier than the enchantment alternative.

“He knocked me aside,” Zandrue was saying, “so I went at him again, this time for the orb. And that’s when the darkness came. It was coming for me. Carcraime, he called me, and I deserved it. And then Stavan was there, knocking me out of his path. His arm just...dissolved away...” Her own voice seemed to dissolve away then.

“I…I had no idea,” Meleng said.

“I’m sorry, Zandrue,” Felitïa said. Up until this point in the conversation, she had remained quiet, just staring at her hands in her lap. “It’s my fault.”

Zandrue shook her head. “Not your fault, Felitïa. Stavan saved my life. So did Sam. Two times I should have been dead, and two times I barely got scratched. Keep them alive, Meleng. You hear me? You keep them alive!”

Meleng nodded without thinking. “I will.” The truth was, he had no idea if he could. Sam, he was confident would make it, but Stavan... Perhaps if there was no infection, Stavan might get lucky. But he had lost so much blood.

By the end of the day, Meleng was worried about Sam, as well. He hadn’t woken yet. Meleng had been sure he would have by this time. Of course, if he had, Meleng would have just advised him to go back to sleep. At the moment, sleep would help him heal faster. So, perhaps it was best he hadn’t woken. Then again... Gods! He wasn’t suited for this! He had no idea what he was doing. And yet, everyone expected him to be able to keep them alive.

Borisin went wild that evening when Greminy and Hang tried to hobble the horses. The stallion leapt between them and the other horses, screaming and kicking. Hang tried to calm him, but Rudiger advised him to stay away. Captain DeSeloön agreed that the horses would not be hobbled that night.

“Borisin will keep them from wandering off,” Rudiger said.

Sleep came no more easily that night than it had the night before. Meleng tried to sleep on the wagon, so he could be near Sam and Stavan in case one woke during the night. But the wagon was too cramped to lie out straight. So he tried to sleep from a seated position, huddling with his knees against his chest in an attempt to stay warm. He dozed off once or twice, but always awoke again shortly after with a start.

Sam finally woke the next day, much to Meleng’s relief. He heard him start to groan and try to say something, but Meleng shushed him, warning him of the bandages round his face. Grabbing his scrip, he pulled out his bag of Endorian herbs. It was difficult with the shaking of the wagon, but with Felitïa’s help (she was doing a lot better this day herself), he was able to mix up a simple draught to help dull the pain and let Sam sleep some more.

To Meleng’s surprise, Stavan woke that day as well. “Woah! That must have been one hell of a party!” Meleng turned to attend him. “My head feels like it has a mountain sitting on it.”

Once he confirmed that Stavan seemed lucid, Meleng called over Captain DeSeloön and Zandrue. “How are you feeling?” DeSeloön asked.

“Well sir,” Stavan responded, “apart from a terrible itch in my missing arm, I’m feeling pretty good, all round. Weird irony, that. How you doing, Zandrue? I hope you killed that bastard for me.”

Zandrue shook her head. “He got away. I did injure him though. I got the orb away from him and suddenly, he could be hurt. I’d like to think he fled after that, but truth is, the other Volg ordered him away. I’m really sorry about your arm. It should have been me in your place.”

Stavan shook his head. “Nah. I can stand to lose an arm. You’re too pretty to mess up that way.”

“You should rest a bit more now,” Meleng said, taking the left-over draught he’d made for Sam.

“That’s what all you doctors, say,” Stavan protested. “If it were up to you, everybody would sleep their lives away.”

“Do what your doctor says,” DeSeloön told him. “That’s an order.”

Stavan sighed. “All right then. Let me have some of that. Oh right, don’t have that arm anymore.” He laughed and held out his left arm. Meleng placed the cup in his hand and he drank from it. Shortly after, he was asleep again.

“I think he might be okay,” Meleng said, feeling pleased with himself for the first time in days.

“Thanks,” Zandrue said. “You did good.”

They reached Cromda that afternoon. DeSeloön and his men purchased replacement horses for those who had lost theirs, while Felitïa started up her merchant disguise by purchasing more fabrics to replace the ones ruined in the battle. At first, she had to be convinced to do this, but with a bit of prodding from Zandrue, eventually she did.

It was nice to sleep in a real bed that night, and sleep Meleng actually did at last. He was sorry to see the inn go the next day. Sorry, as well, for Sam and Stavan who were stuck back on the wagon again after their one night of comfort.

Both Sam and Stavan were awake several times that day. Meleng even agreed to loosen Sam’s bandages a little to let him move his jaw to speak. The two soldiers joked with one another about the battle. They talked about diverse things, from women to weapons to the Cliffs of Elooria overlooking the Great Ocean. They even sang a few songs, urging Meleng to join in.

“Come on, Meleng!” Stavan said with a laugh. “We Eloorin have to stick together in the face of Folith oppression!”

“I’m really not a good singer,” Meleng said, feeling embarrassed. “Besides, you should probably both get some more rest.”

Stavan rolled his eyes. “Fine then! Give us your draught. We’ll drink to the Church and the army. The Church because we don’t want to offend the gods, and the army because the Church is boring!”

The two of them laughed and shared their drink. And for the next couple of days, things seemed to be getting better. Sam got steadily stronger. It would be a while, of course, before the bandages could be removed, but he was able to get up and move around a bit. Stavan was still weak, but that was only to be expected. Meleng was glad he was doing as well as he was. In general, everyone’s mood seemed a little better. Not that anyone had forgotten Corvinian. But people were talking to one another again.

Borisin put up a fuss each night if anyone tried to hobble any of the horses, so eventually, they agreed that they wouldn’t hobble the horses at all on the journey. DeSeloön made it clear to Rudiger that Borisin had better make sure none of the horses wandered off.

Then the fever hit. Three days out of Cromda, Stavan awoke in the morning complaining of dizziness and nausea. A cursory check found that he was burning up with fever. When Felitïa pulled back the dressings on his wound, Meleng gasped.

“Dear gods,” Felitïa said.

“But how?” Meleng protested, wanting to retch. “He was fine yesterday! We’ve been changing the dressings! Keeping the wound clean. How could this happen?”

The stench was overpowering. Overnight, the stump had blackened, even shrivelled. A brown, gooey puss seeped out from where some of the stitches had broken open.

“I take it your diagnosis is not good,” Stavan said.

“Gangrene,” Meleng replied.

“Better amputate then,” Stavan said with a smile.

How could he joke? “Amputate? You’ve already been amputated! There’s nothing left to amputate.”

“That’s...problematic,” Stavan agreed. “Not much of a doctor then, are you? Now, if you don’t mind, that dizziness is getting worse. I think I should lie down. Oh yes, I already am. That’s good. Very...good.” His eyes closed and he fell back into a deep slumber.

That was the last time they were able to have a lucid conversation with him. He awoke occasionally over the next several days, but always in a hallucinatory state. Sometimes, he would scream and thrash in his sleep. At other times, he would mumble, groan, and sigh.

Zandrue stayed at his side constantly, helping Felitïa and Meleng when she could. The others checked on him as well, especially Sam, Greminy, and Hang. Captain DeSeloön kept a greater distance, trying to keep everything running efficiently, making sure everyone was still doing their jobs. But Meleng could see in his eyes that he was just as affected as everyone else.

When they reached Mesdinine, Meleng and Felitïa scoured the city, looking for herbs and medicines that might be able to help. They bought everything they could find, but nothing worked.

Two days after leaving Mesdinine, Stavan died.

They buried him off the side of the highway. At DeSeloön’s urging, Felitïa performed a simple burial ceremony. “Why me?” Felitïa asked.

“As I understand it, you have training as a priest,” DeSeloön replied.

“Some. But I never finished. I ran away, remember?”

“It still makes you more qualified than the rest of us,” the Captain said.

And so Felitïa did as she was asked. It all seemed appropriate enough to Meleng—of course, he was no expert on religious ceremony, but it seemed dignified and gracious.

Zandrue came up to Meleng after it was over, her face full of anger.

“Look, I tried, okay?” Meleng said. “I tried!”

Zandrue stared at him for a few moments, before finally saying, “I know,” and walking off. Meleng felt useless.

Moods improved slowly after that. For the next couple weeks, they rode sombrely, carrying out tasks mechanically. Sam continued to get stronger, and soon started driving the wagon again. When they reached Porthaven, his bandages were ready to be removed. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Nor was it ever likely to be. When the scabs came off, he would be horribly scarred. But at least he was alive and healthy.

It seemed that every time Meleng was in Porthaven, he had to leave it before he’d spent any real time there. It was the biggest city in Arnor and one of the oldest, full of history and brilliant architecture. It had once been the capital of Elooria—and the seat of the Dragon’s power two centuries ago. That was a shameful part of Meleng’s family’s history, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about that. He still wanted the chance to explore the city, visit the ancient Church of Elooria, the Royal Arnorin Museum of the Arts, and so much more. But they had to keep moving.

On the ship from Porthaven, Meleng passed the time contemplating pieces of paper. Specifically, falling pieces of paper. He wasn’t sure just what, but the book in Mesone and his spell in the fight with the Volgs had prompted something in his mind. The beginnings of an idea. So, he tossed pieces of paper into the air and watched them fall. Sometimes, he tossed a group together. Sometimes just one at a time. Other times, he tried folding them in various shapes to see how that affected the rate of fall. He didn’t reach any conclusions, but it was something to do. When he wasn’t watching falling paper, he spent his time talking to Jorvan about various things—even about paper on a couple occasions.

People were gradually becoming their old selves again, Meleng noticed. Except Felitïa. She looked apprehensive most of the time. He asked her what was wrong once, and she just said she wasn’t looking forward to the homecoming. He supposed he could understand that.

“What about your head?” he asked. “That is, your mind, what the Volg did to it. Your telepathy.”

“Back to normal. I think. My telepathy is weird at times, even when it’s normal. And even if I feel normal, I still worry about what that Volg did to me, whether it’ll have long-term consequences.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure things out,” Meleng said.

Felitïa smirked. “It’s been something like twelve and a half years since I first manifested the abilities, and I still haven’t really figured them out. Elderaan tried to help me where he could, but I’ve never had the benefit of anyone to properly teach me, and there’s remarkably little written about it.”

“Maybe you can find something in Arnor City.”

Felitïa grimaced and Meleng immediately regretted saying it. “Sorry. I was forgetting how much you really don’t want to be going there.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But I have to, don’t I?”

Meleng shrugged.

“And maybe you’re right. Maybe I can find something in Arnor City. Whatever the case, I need to do something. I’ve seen too many people die in the last few months. I have to find Corvinian. Find justice for people like Stavan.”

“Can we be sure Corvinian is even still alive?” It was a question he had been worried about bringing up with the others, though he was sure they must have all thought of it.

Felitïa shook her head. “No, we can’t. But they had a way to negate his powers. If they wanted him dead, why kidnap him and not just kill him?”

That made sense, he supposed.

Ten days after leaving Porthaven, a month and a half after Corvinian had been kidnapped, the towers of the Cathedral of the Gods came in sight, the first glimpse of Arnor City. Meleng was on deck talking to Jorvan when the call went out. He peered out, eager to see for himself what so many stories talked about. There was a short wait before those not in the crow’s nest were able to see, but then, there they were, just a speck in the distance, gradually getting larger. Slowly the rest of the city formed around them, and around that the thin stretch of Arnorinn Island.

They had arrived.