ll your son, and I still love you."
	She looked at him for a moment, then laughed in spite of herself.  "I don't want you to go," she admitted, putting her arms around him and giving him a gentle hug.  "I know you need to, but I don't want to lose my baby."
	"I'm not a baby anymore, mother."
	"To a mother, her children are always her babies," she replied.
	"You won't be losing me," he said.  "I'll just be somewhere else."
	"It's more than that, Tarrin," she said, letting go.  He handed her the carving knife she was reaching for absently.  "I guess parents don't like seeing their kids grow up.  It makes us feel old."
	"Old?  You?" he scoffed.
	"I feel it from time to time," she admitted.  "It just doesn't show on me as much as it does your father."  She gave him a sidelong glance.  "This place isn't for you, son," she said.  "Considering the way the rest of the village considers me a witch, you'd do better finding a wife elsewhere.  Even the girls who gawk at you cringe when they see me.  They would not be good daughters-in-law."
	"Mother, you'll outlive the mountains themselves," he said with a chuckle.
	She smiled at him, but said nothing.
	While the women were preparing the food, the men readied for the competitions.  Tarrin picked up his staff and bow and rushed into the fray.  First was the archery competition.  It was simple enough contest, where stands of ten archers fired at hay-stuffed targets with cloth targets pinned to them.  They were painted with red circles, and the two archers to have the best score went on to the next round.  There were three circles on the target.  An arrow inside the outermost ring was worth one point, inside the middle ring was worth two points, and inside the third was three points.  A red circle was in the center, the bull's-eye, and that was worth four points.  Each archer had ten arrows, and the targets were started at one hundred paces.  With every round, they were moved back twenty five paces.  Tarrin's family more or less dominated this event.  Tarrin and Eron Kael were outstanding shots, but this year Jenna was old enough to compete.  They'd never seen Jenna shoot before, but both her brother and father knew how deadly she was with a bow.
	Jenna wasn't the only woman in the contest.  Many of the village women knew how to use a bow, and some of the better shots, mostly young women, had decided to compete.  There were nearly fifty people competing, almost half the village's population.
	Tarrin, Jenna, and Eron all were drawn into the first round.  As Tarrin and Jenna checked their bowstrings, they heard Eron scoffing at Lamon Dannis, the village cooper.  "That young girl of yours don't have enough arm to send an arrow a hunnerd' paces," he drawled.
	"I'll wager you twenty silver talents that she can put eight arrows into the bull's-eye," Eron said immediately.
	"'Ere now, friend," Lamon said in his outlander's drawl, "I think that's fatherly pride talkin', not good sense."
	"Then accept the wager," he goaded.
	"Done then," he said loudly.  "Easy money."
	"Yes," Eron agreed.  "For me."
	There was raucous laughter from several of the men around Lamon as the Kaels marched onto the line.  They all counted out ten arrows, then put the rest on the ground well behind them, like the other seven men and women on the line.  There was no organized firing.  Each archer fired at his or her own pace, but they all had to wait for the go signal from Garyth Longshank, the village mayor.  Garyth was a tall man, thin and whip-like with a friendly face and warm expression.  He was the village cobbler, and just about everyone except the Kaels wore his leather shoes and boots.  He was also a sharp trader, who made quite a bit of money duping the travelling merchants who thought the small village had no trading man among them.  Garyth, wearing a simple white wool shirt with his leather apron and wool breeches, stood to the near side of the firing range, holding a large piece of white cloth in his hand.  "Are the archers ready?" he called.
	There was no reply.  That meant that everyone was ready.
	"Alright then, commence shooting!" he shouted.
	Tarrin exhaled, centering himself.  He drew back his powerful longbow in a smooth motion; the bow was one of Eron's best, and it was so powerful that only Tarrin, Eron, Elke, and the village smith could even draw it.  He brought the bowstring to his cheek, carefully lining the arrow up with the target, after testing the air with his senses to discern wind speed and direction.  He held the bow rock-solid, tuning out the sound of loosed arrows and chatter around him, becoming one with his bow, one with the target, just as he was taught.  Then he loosed in a smooth, fluent motion.
	He knew it was a bull's-eye the instant it left the bow.  He didn't bother to watch it, reaching in for another arrow, pulling it out just as his arrow thudded home in the exact center of the target.  His was not the only one; many men and women in Aldreth were not shabby with the bow themselves, since just about everyone in the whole village had at least one.  The villagers of Aldreth as a whole were exceptionally proficient with the bow.  Of the ten archers at the line, only two failed to hit the bull's-eye on the first shot.  And theirs were not far off.
	Tarrin blanked out his mind again, drew, carefully aimed, and then fired.  Then again.  And again.  His arrows were tightly grouped right around the bull's-eye as he fired his arrows.  Tarrin lost track of where he was, he was so caught up in the machination of nocking, drawing, aiming, and firing the bow.  He reached for another arrow, and found the quiver empty.  He'd fired all his arrows.  He looked down the range, seeing his ten arrows almost perfectly arranged inside the red of the bull's-eye.  That was good, even for him.  He usually had one or two outside the bull's-eye.  He looked to his left, to his sister's target.  It looked exactly like his.  A look to the right showed his father's target exactly the same.  His father looked at him and grinned boyishly.
	"They'll have to advance all three of us," he said with a smirk.  "We tied.  And I just won twenty talents."
	Jenna laughed delightedly and lowered her bow.  "Let's see the others beat those," she said with family pride.
	As surely as the sun rose in the east, Eron was right.  Garyth consulted with the official tallyman, then made an announcement.  "There is a tie," he called.  "Three people put all ten arrows in the bull's-eye.  The rule is, all people who tie are given advancement except in the final round, so Eron Kael, Tarin Kael, and Jenna Kael advance."
	Smiling, the three made their way back to their table, where Elke handed each of them an earthenware mug of chilled apple-flavored ale from Eron's keg. "Did you see that?" Jenna laughed to her mother.
	"You shot very well," Elke smiled to her daughter.
	"And Lamon Dannis thought I couldn't get an arrow to the target.  Ha!"
	Tarrin noticed that all the boys were looking strangely at Jenna.  Surprisingly, her shooting ability had attracted their eyes.  He couldn't see why not, her dark hair and pretty face would attract any boy's attention.  Then again, she was the daughter of Elke Kael.  But Jenna didn't have the same problems as Tarrin, since she looked Sulasian to her fingernails.  She had lots of friends in the village, and the mothers of the children weren't quite as worried over her.  Although Tarrin was a nice, considerate boy, he looked too much and acted too much like Elke Kael to suit them.
	"Don't drink too much," Tarrin warned her.  "We have to shoot again."
	"I won't," she promised.
	Because ten people were supposed to go on to the next round, the rules changed slightly for the last group.  There were only six of them, so the mayor decided that only one of them would advance, to balance out the advancing group to ten to take the tie into account.  After the last group fired, the targets were moved back and the advancing ten were called back up to the line.  In this phase of the competition, the goal was to score at least a predetermined amount.  Everyone that did stayed in, while those who failed were out.  Every time a round was over, the target was moved back twenty five paces.  In case nobody scored the quota on a particular round, the person with the highest score was declared the winner.  What made it more difficult was that each archer was only to fire three arrows.
	"This is a group of good archers," the mayor said in a booming voice, "so we'll make it tough right at the start.  The quota is nine points."  Everyone was expected to pass the first round, but a few of them grumbled at the high quota set.  The reason they grumbled was because the wind had picked up some.  Distance firing in a shifting crosswind was tricky.  "Archers ready!" the mayor called, and ten bows raised.  "Loose!" he shouted.
	Tarrin raised his bow slightly, calculating in his mind the trajectory angle needed to give the arrow the right height to hit the bull's-eye.  Then he watched the wind carefully, adjusted his aim to let the wind push his arrow into the target, and then loosed.  He watched the arrow go high and seemingly off center, then get pushed down and back on course by the wind.  It hit just at the edge of the bull's-eye, but it still counted as one.  He noted with concern that Jenna nailed the center with her first shot, but Tarrin knew that Jenna had to eliminate everyone else fast.  If the target went back too far, her young thirteen-year-old arm wouldn't be able to send an arrow to reach it.  Tarrin figured she'd be in for only three rounds before distance began working against her.  But Tarrin had other things to do than worry about his sister.  He nocked another arrow, aimed, checked, adjusted, and then fired again, hitting more solidly in the bull's-eye that time.  Then he did it once more.  His last arrow missed the bull's-eye, but was solidly in the innermost ring.  That was eleven points, enough to advance.  Tarrin saw that Jenna and his father both had three bull's-eyes.  Looking down the line, Tarrin saw that everyone looked to be advancing.
	Almost.  After the tallyman checked the targets and the archers walked to the target to pull their arrows, two people were eliminated, the thatcher and the smith's apprentice.  The targets were moved back, and Tarrin glimpsed a slightly worried expression on his sister's face.  He thought that she had to know that she was going to run into this problem; Tarrin did well his first time, but didn't win.  Because the same thing happened to him.  The target was pushed back out of his range.  He stepped over to her as she checked the fletching on her arrows, and said "don't worry, the same thing happened to me when I competed the first time.  Just do the best you can."
	"But I want to win," she huffed.
	"So did I," he told her.
	The wind died down some as the mayor raised the quota to ten points.  The whole line took several minutes to shoot three arrows, as each archer carefully took aim, and there was no time limit.  After that round, three more were out.  Five stood to watch the target go back.  The quota went up to eleven points, and Tarrin guessed that this would be the last round.
	It took Tarrin almost a whole minute to aim and fire the first arrow.  He saw that it was either right on or close, but the target was too far away and too peppered with holes to make a solid guess.  He didn't worry about it, just aiming his next arrow and shooting, then again.  He was one of the last archers to finish, so he only had to wait a few seconds until the mayor called for bows down, and the mayor joined the tallyman to check the scores.  They checked the five targets, all of which looked close, then walked back to his standing area.  "Only one person advances, so we have a winner!" he called.  "The scores are:  Kanly Mills, eight points.  Aaron Noth, nine points.  Tarrin Kael, ten points.  Jenna Kael, ten points.  Joran Wanderer, ten points.  And the winner, Eron Kael, with twelve points!"
	Eron accepted a few handshakes, and then patted his daughter on the shoulder.  "You did very well, my girl," he said with a smile.  "You'll do even better next time."
	"Second place your first time out is pretty good," Tarrin added.  "It's better than I did."
	"I still wanted to win," she huffed.
	"That's your mother talking," Eron laughed as they went out to collect their arrows.
	Tarrin ran to the table, set aside his bow, and picked up his staff.  Next was his favorite competition, the staves.  Much to his mother's dismay, Tarrin preferred the staff to any other weapon.  His own staff was rather special, much like his bow, but he'd made the staff himself.  He'd found an Ironwood sapling some three years ago.  Ironwood was much as its name described, a rare wood that was so strong that it was like steel.  It took Tarrin three days to cut the sapling down, and it ruined five saws.  It took him over three months to strip and shape the wood, and he couldn't even count how many knives he ruined in that endeavor.  It cost Tarrin every copper bit he had, plus some of his parents' money which he still owed them, but it was worth it.  Ironwood was almost unbreakable, important qualities in a good staff.  The wood itself was just a tad heavier than oak, and it looked almost exactly like oak, but it floated so powerfully that he could stand on the staff in a still pond.  That ironwood stump had regrown, and it was quickly going to return to the size that it was when Tarrin cut it down.  That was the way ironwood was.  Tarrin had wisely made his staff using his mother's height as his guide, projecting the size he would be full grown by sizing the staff for someone slightly taller than his mother, and besides, he could always cut the staff down to size if it was too large, where he couldn't put wood back if he made it too small.  And the gamble had paid off.  The staff was about half a head taller than him, as a good staff should be sized for its user, and he hadn't had to cut it down.  It fit almost perfectly into his hand, but he remembered how cumbersome it was when he first made it.  It hadn't mattered much, for he'd had enough wood for two, and had made another one for himself at that height.  Jenna owned that one now, it was almost perfect for her.  A bit too tall maybe, but she'd grow into it.
	Rushing to the referee's table, he hurriedly put his name into the draw for staff contestants, then he looked at the ring.  The staff competition was rather simple.  Two contestents stood inside a circular ring that was fifteen paces across.  A contestant could win in three ways.  He could knock his opponent out of the ring, he could knock the opponent off his feet, or he could knock the opponent's staff out of his hands.  Dropping your own staff or stepping out of the ring put yourself out.  Contestants were allowed to voluntarily go down to one knee, but not both.  It was a full contact competition, but hitting between the legs, in the back, or in the face was automatic disqualification.  Shots to any part of the head with hair, or above the forehead for the balding contestants, were perfectly acceptable.  Hits with hands or feet were also acceptable, as were hits with any part of the body against an opponent, except for those areas that were off limits.  Jen Bluebird had a habit of headbutting his opponents, and that disqualified him last year.
	Tarrin stood next to his father, who had his own staff, watching the roughly thirty men willing to compete this year put in their names.  "Karn Rocksplitter's competing this year," Eron noticed.  Karn was from Daltochan, the mountain kingdom in the Cloud Dancer Mountains to the north, and like all Dals, he was wide and powerfully built.  Being a blacksmith made him even more powerful than his Dal heritage.  Karn had been the village champion for three straight years, but he'd broken his ribs a week before the festival last year and couldn't compete, and Tarrin had won.  Many in the village were looking forward to seeing the young Tarrin Kael up against a grizzled veteran like Karn Rocksplitter.
	"Good," Tarrin said.  "I didn't feel right not getting my head thumped by him last year."  Tarrin had been knocked out by Karn two years earlier, but it had been a good contest.  Karn relied on his raw power, and his smithy's endurance allowed him to just wear down opponents.  Tarrin was ready for him this year.  Karn wasn't offensively gifted, but he could stand in the middle of the ring and defend to the Last Day.  Tarrin already had a plan, because he fully expected to cross staves with him.
	"First contestant," the mayor called, reaching into a hat with names written on pieces of parchment, "Tarrin Kael!  Second contestant," he called, pulling out another strip.  He laughed.  "Second contenstant, Eron Kael!"
	There were some shouts and laughter at that, and father and son gave each other a slight smile.  Eron may have a lamed leg, but he was still a formidable opponent with the staff.  "Looks like you're not going to repeat this year, son," Eron said mildly.
	"I just hope mother brought some cold cloths," Tarrin shot back.  "You're going to need them."
	They took their places in the ring.  If anyone could defend against Tarrin, it was Eron, and Tarrin knew it.  It had to do with the daily sparring practices they had.  Tarrin didn't fight the staff the same way the villagers did.  He'd been trained in the Ungardt way, and the Ungardt fought the staff with a completely different style.  The Ungardt had forms for holding the staff in the center and also on one end.  Tarrin knew Eron had more trouble dealing with a end-hold style, so that was the way he set himself in the ring, holding his staff almost like a spear.  Eron grimaced a bit, and then gave his son a wolfish grin.
	"Eron, are you ready?" the mayor called.  Eron nodded.  "Tarrin, are you ready?"  Tarrin nodded.  "Alright, just remember that we're here for fun, not to knock out teeth.  Ready?  Go!"
	Tarrin evaded a fast thrust to the belly, spun around and ducked to evade the swipe at his head, then whipped the staff across the back of Eron's knees.  He felt the staff connect solidly, but he'd missed the knees and hit only one knee.  He didn't have a low enough angle to get both.  Eron dipped as his lamed knee unlocked, but he didn't go down.  There was some laughter at the youngster's quick coup against his father, but they'd seen Tarrin fight staves before.  He was one of the ones favored to win.  Tarrin blocked a fast series of swipes from his father, using the end-hold grip like a sword to parry blows, then stepped into a high swing, blocked with the far end, and tried to smash the held end of the staff into Eron's belly.  Eron blocked it with the center of his staff, but Tarrin's power scooted Eron's feet across the dirt ring, towards the rope that marked the ring boundary.  Eron leaned into his staff, stopping his skid, but Tarrin had leverage enough to lift a foot.  He stomped on his father's foot hard, making Eron wince, then hooked his heel behind the foot he'd just stomped and pulled with his foot as he pushed with the staff.  Eron was pinioned between them, and tottered back as his foot caught against Tarrin's heel.  Eron gave up a hand on his staff and grabbed Tarrin by the belt, threatening to pull both of them down and cause a double-elimination.
	But Tarrin wasn't put off.  He gave his father a heavy push, then quickly grounded one end of the staff and leaned into it.  Eron kiltered backwards, staff going wide, and then he started falling.  Tarrin leaned into his staff as Eron's hand on his belt tried to yank him forward, using the staff as a buttress against falling.  Eron fell backwards, reached the end of his arm, and then was yanked to the side.  He came to rest on his backside, his staff under his leg, holding on to his son's leather belt.
	"Winner, Tarrin Kael!" the mayor called, as many of the spectators clapped and shouted and laughed.  Tarrin helped his father up, who still had that wolfish grin.
	"Sneak," his father accused.
	"Cheater," Tarrin bit back, with a smile on his face.
	"Thought you'd give that up if I threatened to double us out," Eron admitted with a wink.
	"I figured you did," Tarrin grinned back.
	Tarrin's next match wasn't so quick.  It was against Jen Bluebird, who was deceptively powerful and very fast.  Tarrin matched Jen's speed with speed, and the two of them danced around each other as their staves moved in blurred symmetry.  Tarrin's moves were more precise, more crisp, than Jen's as he moved from one move to the next, flowing like water around and with his opponent.  He blocked a flurry of high-low strikes from the staff, leaned back out of reach of a high swing, then just moved his leg out of the way of a strike at his ankle.  Just his leg.  Jen hadn't expected him to not move back, and was too close.  Tarrin drove the end of his staff between Jen's feet like a spear and then twisted, putting one end behind his left foot and the side in front of his right.  Then he lifted a hand off the staff and punched Jen in the stomach.  Not hard, just hard enough to knock him backwards, allow the staff to tangle his feet, and topple him.
	Tarrin defeated his next opponent almost immediately.  It was Darl Millen, the wheelwright.  Tarrin bulled into the heavier man, supposedly playing right into his hands, then hooked his arm around his hip.  Tarrin stepped into his opponent, twisted so his back was to Darl, and dragged him over his body in the Ungardt hook-throw.  Darl landed on his back with a thud in front of Tarrin.
	Tarrin's final match was against Karn, and it was the final match.  Tarrin stepped up and shook the powerful, bald smith, giving him a warm smile.  Karn was one of his few friends in the village, a gruff man who was as much an outsider as he, who had the talent to be much more than a village smith.  But this was the life that Karn loved, so this was what he did.  "I get ta' thump yer head, boy," Karn said in his gravelly voice.
	Tarrin laughed and looked down at the shorter man.  "We'll see who thumps who," he returned.
	"Contestants ready!" the mayor shouted.  "Go!"
	Tarrin instantly jumped back to the edge of the ring as Karn settled his feet in his classic "like the mountain stone" stance.  Tarrin knew that fighting Karn on his own terms was suicide.  He had to make the big man move, make him do the attacking.  Because Karn would be perfectly content to stand in that one place and let Tarrin swing until his arms couldn't lift his staff over his head.  That was Karn's way.  Patient and methodical, the same way he hammered hot steel.  Tarrin took up his staff in the end grip and weaved the point near Karn's face, flicking the tip lightly towards Karn's nose.  Karn easily blocked the attempts, but Tarrin wouldn't stop.  The answering parries became harder and harder, as Karn became annoyed that Tarrin wouldn't do what he was supposed to do and try to take the big man down from the start so that the match didn't go on and go into his favor.  Karn's face turned black as Tarrin almost got him, the tip swishing a finger from Karn's nose, and he gave a shout and stepped up to engage the younger, taller opponent.
	Tarrin ducked under a swing and blocked the reverse, reset into a center grip, and engaged Karn toe to toe.  He kept attacking just enough to keep Karn on the offensive, goading him so that he wouldn't settle back into his classic defensive posture.  While they exchanged blows, Tarrin analyzed Karn's attacking technique, looking for any exploits or holes.  Not surprisingly, Karn didn't have any worth exploiting.
	They battled back and forth for several minutes, Tarrin working to keep from getting bulled out of the ring while Karn defended his knees and ankles, two of Tarrin's favorite targets.  Bets and suggestions were being shouted by the spectators around the ring, but Tarrin tuned it out as he saw the hole he needed.  Karn set his lead foot down heavy when he tried to thrust.  That was what he was looking for.  Tarrin put a pace between them, then worked Karn into a position where he would try to poke the end of his staff into Tarrin's belly.  Karn bit, stepping in and lunging the point of his staff at Tarrin's ribs.  Tarrin spun aside even as the thrust was delivered, the wooden shaft missing his side by a finger.  Tarrin dipped and bent going down on one haunch as his hand flew out wide to counter balance the spin.  His other leg came straight out, and the momentum of his spin added to his strong kick carried his foot around at high speed.  His foot flew around and cracked solidly into Karn's lead ankle.  Tarrin felt his whole foot go numb, but he had so much behind it that it pushed Karn's planted foot out from under him.  Karn windmilled his arms wildly, losing hold of his staff, then went down in a tumbled heap.
	Tarrin rose, still spinning, and came to a stop facing the fallen Karn, staff in hand, tip grounded on the dirt.
	"Och, boy, what in the name of the Gods was that?" Karn groaned, pushing up onto his backside.
	"That would be a spinning foot sweep," a voice called as Tarrin put his hand out to help Karn up.  Tarrin heard it clearly over the cheers and calls from the crowd, and the mayor's cry of the winner's name.  Tarrin looked over, and saw the curly-haired knight step into the ring with several other spectators.  "That's an Ungardt move," he noted aloud.  "The Ungardt, she's your mother, isn't she?"
	"Yes, sir," he said demurely, pulling Karn to his feet.  "You alright, Karn?"
	"Fine, lad, fine," he said with a rueful grin.  "I thrust at ye, but ye just disappeared.  Then I found my foot trying to fly south."
	"I think I broke my toe," Tarrin groaned, settling his foot in his boot.  "It was like kicking a rock.  Is there any soft part on your body?"
	"I don't think so," Karn chuckled.  "Mae says my belly's getting a bit soft, but I don't see it."
	"A good move, son," the knight continued.  "Your mother, did she train you completely?"
	"She taught me alot of what she knows," Tarrin replied, trying not to blurt out everything at once.  It wouldn't impress him acting like a fool.  "I still can't beat her with her own weapons, though."
	Karn reached down and picked up his staff as the mayor and Eron clapped Tarrin on the back.  "Good match, my boy, good match!" the mayor cried with a wide smile.
	The knight was lost in the press, much to Tarrin's disappointment, but he found himself swept up into the good mood and festive atmosphere.  He won the prize for staves, a new belt knife crafted by Karn just for the occasion.  It was a beautiful piece of work, with a hilt shaped like a falcon, the wings acting as the quillions and the body the hilt.  The tail flared out to be a miniature pommel, and there was a hawk's head embossed into the steel of the blade on both sides, where the shape had been carved out of the steel and filled in with silver.  Karn outdid himself with that bit of artistic work.  The blade was longer than Tarrin's hand, and it was razor sharp on both sides.
	Tarrin was sitting at the table, watching Eron and Elke dancing on the Green while Jenna checked the arrows she'd used in the archery contest for damage, when the knight's voice called out.  "What brought an Ungardt to such a secluded place?" he asked curiously, walking up to them.  Tarrin saw that the Sorceress was with him, looking at the siblings with her penetrating gaze.
	"She married father," Jenna piped in simply.  "Father wanted to live here, and mother came with him.  She says it's warmer than home."
	"I would think that it is," the Sorceress said in a mild, calm voice, touched with amusement.  "You are brother and sister?"
	"Yes ma'am," Tarrin replied respectfully.
	"I can see the resemblence," she said.
	"Not many people can," Jenna said impishly.
	"On the contrary, I cannot see how someone could not see that you share common blood," the woman countered.  She reached into the bodice of her blue dress, and withdrew an amulet made of ivory.  It was rather unusual, Tarrin noticed, a circle holding a six-pointed star inside it created by two triangles resting over each other in opposite directions.  And inside the six-pointed star was a four-pointed star, its points going in the four compass directions, with concavely curved sides.  At the center of that inner star was a small diamond.  "Do either of you know what this is?" she asked.
	"It's an amulet," Jenna replied.
	"Not what it is, child, what the symbol means," the woman elaborated.
	"No," they both said, almost in unison.
	"It is the symbol of my order," she told them, pulling the chain over her head and holding the ivory object in her hand.  "We call it the shaeram.  It represent the seven spheres of Sorcery.  Earth, air, fire, water, the power of the mind, the power of the Goddess, and the seventh sphere, which is the power of confluence."
	"Con-flewence?" Jenna repeated.  "I've never heard that word."
	"It means the power of joining, of unity," she said with a smile.  She held out the amulet to them.  "Here, take it.  Hold it in your hands, and tell me what you feel."
	Jenna took the ivory amulet and silver chain, holding it in her hands and looking at it.  "Ouch!" she cried, almost dropping it before grabbing it by the chain.  She quickly pawned it off to Tarrin.
	"What's the matter?" Tarrin asked quickly.
	"It's hot!" she said loudly.
	"Hot?" Tarrin said.  He put his hand near the amulet.  "I don't feel any heat," he said, then he put his hand on it.  The instant he did so, it felt like he'd grabbed a piece of stock out of Master Karn's forge.  "Ahh!" he hissed, yanking his hand back and shaking it violently to cool it.  "How do you wear this thing without getting branded?" he asked the Sorceress crossly.  Jenna was blowing on her fingers, giving the woman a baleful look.
	"Here, let me see," she said calmly.  Jenna presented her hands.  Her fingers were red and blistered.  "By the Goddess!" the woman said under her breath.  "Here, you too, Tarrin Kael," she said, in a commanding voice.  Tarrin held out his hand.
	His skin was severely blistered wherever it touched the ivory.
	"It burned you," she breathed in surprise.  She put her hand over Tarrin's seared fingers, and Tarrin suppressed the desire to yank it away when he felt something flow into his hand.  The throbbing pain eased, and then was gone, washed away by some sort of sensation that was warm and icy at the same time, and not entirely pleasant.  She 