Shadow Walker

by James 'Fel' Galloway

Chapter 6

The young man whose boat Kyven had stolen became one of those who had no happy ending.

Simply put, Kyven could not afford to leave him alive. He regretted having to do it, but in this there could be no mistakes. If that man lived, he might guide the Loreguard to Kyven, so he couldn't be left alive.

The man and his boat were put back out into the Podac river after Kyven felt strong enough to disembark, and then he watched as the stones he piled in the boat and the hole he broke into the bottom did their work. The boat settled more and more into the water, it then started pouring over the sides, and then the boat and the man tied to it with vines sank into nearly in the exact center of the wide channel of the Podac River, more than deep enough that it would never be found.

Kyven felt an odd serenity. He was still injured, his wrists and ankles little but bloody meat and his shoulder in a great deal of pain from having been dislocated, but his blessing and the meal he had wisely eaten in Avannar had done wonders for him, leaving him strong enough to walk without dragging. He felt . . . sedate. Calm. Confident. He knew exactly who he was, where he was going -- even if he wasn't quite sure exactly where that was -- and what he was doing. He had gotten out of the boat on the west bank of the Podac river just before sunrise, probably about sixty minars from Avannar, found a nice sandy area sheltered by a deadfall, and caught a nice nap. He felt stronger when he woke up, if a bit hungry, but he was out in the wilds now, and food was not as much a problem. He had no clothes, but he had the sergeant's belt and his alchemical devices which he could use as barter when he reached a village, but until he got there it was a simple matter to use his lightning against a small stream to electrocute up a meal of raw fish.

Fishing, Shaman style.

Lucky for him, the sergeant's belt included a small dagger, and that served to clean and gut the fish. The meal staved off the hunger he so feared, and the stream slaked his thirst, then he set out through the wilds heading southwest, knowing that he would eventually reach Tobacco Road, the major thoroughfare that linked Avannar and Rallan, with Riyan in the middle between the two. Until he reached the road, however, he wanted to make progress south, get away from Avannar, so he opted for the angled approach to the road that led him through regions of untamed forest. He moved carefully on his bare feet and hurting ankles, stepping carefully so as not to impale himself on a thorn or twig, wincing every time a stick or branch grated against his raw wounds, and keeping his left arm tucked in close to keep from moving it too much.

About sunset, he stepped from the forest into a clearing, an artificial clearing. It was a remote farmstead, not too large, with fields surrounding a sturdy little house, a barn, a short, squat silo, and a chicken coop and pigpen. The barnyard had a fenced section for a few sheep and a single cow. Kyven wrapped himself in an illusion of a buckskin-clad prospector carrying a small pack with a bedroll tied to the top and picked his way through the rows of beets towards the house, and it wasn't long before someone took notice of him. "Hello the farm!" Kyven called. "Might I approach?"

"What business you have?" a man on the porch shouted back.

"I wanted to see if I could buy a new blanket and maybe a bit of food that I don't have to catch and kill!"

"Come along, but step careful," the man said, shouldering a long musket. "We don't get enough visitors 'round these parts to be particular friendly til we talk a bit."

The man was a tall, lanky man with a balding pate of blond hair and hard brown eyes. His skin was browned and leathered from the sun and wind, and his farmstead seemed to hold only him, his wife, a young lady cousin or relative, and five kids. There were no Arcans, no other farmhands, and Kyven wondered how just eight of them ran a farm of this size. Kyven stopped at the steps of the porch and took the money purse stolen from the sergeant from his belt. "I only need a new blanket and some prepared food. I'll happily move on after I get them and camp well away from your fields."

"How much?"

"Given my need and the fact that I don't think I'll find anyone else around here, how about ten chits for the blanket and five for the food?" Kyven pulled three five chit coins from the purse, which looked to only hold fifteen chits more, and offered them to the man.

"Done and done, stranger," the balding man nodded, reaching out and taking the chits, inspecting them, then looking towards the door. "Sammy, go get a good blanket for the man. Ma, fix him up a dinner he can eat later."

"My thanks, friend. I'm looking forward to eating something I don't have to skin or gut first."

The man smiled. "Not many prospectors out this way."

"That's why I'm here," he said smoothly. "Working the streams near where they feed into the Podac. My thinking is when they slow down and when the tide backs them up, smaller crystals might bank up on the sandbars. I'm gonna work the bars from the Podac and up a good few minars and see what I come up with."

"Sounds like an odd plan."

"Well, hoping quantity makes up for the small crystals, cause I've sure had bad luck west and this here purse is starting to get a little light, so I'm willing to try something odd about now," he grunted, hefting the sergeant's money purse before tying it back to his belt. "Say, how far am I from the nearest village? I'm gonna need to restock soon."

"Fried's about half a day that way if you're walkin'," he said, pointing towards the south. "Just follow the wagon track leading out of my land, goes right to it."

"I may have to do that before I go back out," he noted aloud.

A young boy brought out both a folded blanket and a small makeshift sack made by pulling up the corners of a piece of burlap that held cheese and a bit of jerked beef. "Nice, nice," he said, unfolding the wool blanket and finding it fairly large and in good condition. "My thanks, friends. I'll be on my way now. Good evening to you."

"Be careful out there, traveler," the farmer said gruffly. "And good luck prospectin'."

Kyven took the cart track south, which wound along low, gentle hills, and found a nice clearing in which to camp for the night that was about two minars from the farm and just off the track, close enough to hear any traffic that used it but far enough back not to be seen, for it was separated from the track by a stand of oak and maple trees. He built a small fire for himself, enjoyed his meal of cheese and beef, found a stream nearby from which to get a drink, then used magic on himself. He'd found that the spell he'd used to strip water and detritus out of his fur also worked almost perfectly for cleaning his wounds quickly and painlessly. After envisioning it and beseeching the fox for the power to cast the spell, he saw all the accumulated dirt that had worked into the raw wounds on his ankles and wrists clear out of them, leaving them clean. Still open and oozing both blood and clear fluid, but clean. He then took the blanket and tore a good piece of it into narrow strips, and those he used to bandage his wounds as best he could. He settled in with what blanket he had left and almost immediately fell into a deep, recuperative sleep, with the sounds of the forest serenading him and the gentle warmth of the fire radiating against his face and side as he lay near the dwindling flames.

He awoke feeling a little stiff an tender, and also a bit . . . warm. A hand to his forehead warned him that he was on the verge of a fever, and he realized that his wounds must have become infected. He used the spell that cured diseases on himself, which would eradicate the infection . . . which he could use on himself because it was a Blessing, a spell of healing, and all healing spells were Blessings. He hoped he got it early enough that it didn't weaken him any more than he was, but after a full day of steady food and a lack of heavy activity, he was confident that he wasn't going to suffer too greatly from the infection, since he cured it early enough.

Too bad curing diseases was the extent of his healing powers. The raw, bloody wounds on his wrists would be long to heal and would heal back badly scarred, but the ones on his ankles wouldn't be quite as bad. His wrists had taken the brunt of it, days and days of him hanging at that awkward angle that put all his weight on where his wrists had been in the shackles, and had put enough stress on his shoulders to cause his left one to dislocate of its own volition.

He reached the small, rural, isolated village of Fried about noon on a hot, muggy summer day, and was careful to wrap himself in his blond-haired illusion before coming out into the open . . . but he had to work carefully here so as to not cause problems with his illusion, so he was careful not to add any clothes to his illusion. He instead tied the remains of his blanket around himself like a kilt and put the belt on over it. He attracted quite a bit of attention as he walked in, as kids stopped to look at him and women watched him go by from their porches or gardens, and there were quite a few giggles and pointed fingers. There were a few Arcans here as well, all of them in collars, but he paid them no special attention. He could tell the general store from the surrounding buildings because of its size and the fact that four men were sitting on stools on the porch, deep in conversation. They all stopped as Kyven came up, but one man did nod to him and open the door for him when he reached it. All four were smiling.

Within was a typical village general store, for it had a little bit of just about everything. Farm equipment, supplies, food, sundries, even clothes. A general store was the sole supplier of most of the needs of its village, and so they were usually well stocked with almost anything the customers might need. This store was being minded by a young, surprisingly pretty girl with long, slightly wavy hair tied back in a single tail, sweeping the floor near the counter, wearing a simple country dress of blue cotton with white bands on the ends of the short sleeves, the edge of the bodice where it buttoned down, and the hem of the skirt. It was a dress made to deal with the muggy summers of the region. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked with a gentle smile, obviously trying not to laugh or let her eyes wander from his face.

"Yes ma'am," he said. "As you can probably tell, I've had a pretty bad run of luck and lost all my clothes and most of my gear. So, I need two good sets of clothes, a pack, a bedroll, a couple of waterskins, an extra blanket, a pair of boots, and maybe a small tent or a good sized tarp if you have one. I only have fifteen chits, but I'm willing to trade this shockrod for what I need." He removed the shockrod from the holster and offered it to her.

She took it from him and rather expertly checked to make sure it had a crystal, then she activated it. The faint hum it gave off satisfied her, and she nodded. "What happened to you, sir?"

"Remember that storm a couple of days ago?"

She nodded.

"Well, it was a lot worse up north a ways, and I made the bad move of camping by a small stream that channeled a flash flood right on top of me. It washed out my camp, when I had my last set of good clothes off to wash them. I lost everything. Tent, clothes, gear, even my boots," he said, holding up a bare foot and wiggling his toes. "Only things I found were this blanket and my belt. Everything else is probably halfway to the Angry Sea by now."

"Terrible luck, sir," she said with a nod. "I think the shockrod will cover most of what you want. I'll have to have my pa set a value. Pa!" she called.

When a tall, heavy-set man with small eyes came out from the back room, he laughed openly at Kyven's appearance. Kyven just chuckled ruefully and accepted it with a smile. The man introduced himself as Vern Millerson, but his amusement at Kyven's appearance turned into a compassionate nod when Kyven repeated his story. "So, you think the shockrod will cover what I need?" he asked.

The man held it up and inspected it, then his eyes widened. "This is a Loreguard shockrod. Where did you get it?"

"It is? Wow," Kyven said with feigned surprise. "I've had it for over a year. Bought it in Balton in an alchemist shop. No Loreguard's ever said a thing about me carrying it, even when I went through Avannar last fall."

"Well, we don't see them here often enough for it to matter to me," he said with a smile. "I'll trade you the shockrod for everything you want except the tent."

"How about a piece of tarp I can use to make a lean-to instead?"

"Now that's a deal," he said, taking the shockrod and putting it under the counter. "Go ahead and help him gear up, Linny."

"Okay, pa," she nodded in reply.

With the girl Linny's help, Kyven geared up. He picked a nice pair of denim trousers and a short-sleeved brown shirt, a rugged leather vest to wear over it and protect it, underclothes, and they had a nice pair of soft moccasin-boots that were a perfect fit. He wanted clothes for one simple reason, so he could get around without using illusions if necessary . . . and walking naked through the forest wasn't entirely pleasant. Branches, thorns, and brambles had a habit of poking a man in some pretty sensitive areas. He got a second set of clothes, a roomy backpack, a bedroll, a sturdy wool blanket, two waterskins, and a length of rope and some leather thongs and a few pieces of sackcloth. He rounded it off with a long leather strap he tied over his forehead to again serve as a blindfold to hide his eyes when he used spirit sight, and good piece of canvas that would serve him as a beggar's tent. He used his last fifteen chits to buy some trail food, cheese and dried meat and some dried fruit, which would tide him over on those days he was either too tired to hunt or couldn't find anything. He even managed to talk Linny out of a used, battered old set of posts knives they had behind the counter, for her to add it to his order. They were old, but they were in good condition and they were actually pretty well balanced, and would serve Kyven well as a formidable physical weapon if he couldn't use magic for some reason.

Despite his magic, he was still a deadly man with a thrown knife, and he'd be a fool not to make sure he could use that advantage if he needed it.

"You're a posts player, eh?" she asked with a smile.

"When I can find the time and a game," he answered honestly. "I haven't played in a long time. Not many partners out there." He folded up the canvas and packed it over the other goods in his pack, and then closed it. "Many thanks ma'am. You were a lifesaver. I was feeling all kinds of exposed and a bit silly wearing that blanket."

"Well, you have nice legs, so at least you wore it well," she winked.

He laughed. "Well, I'll be on my way so the old women can gossip about me for the next three months."

"More like six, nothing ever happens around here."

"Well, at least I'll be famous for a good reason," he mused, which made her laugh again.

Shouldering his pack, he got directions to Tobacco Road from one of the fellows standing on the porch, and started off in that direction. He happened to come up on a young man being followed by a young Arcan, probably no more than two, who was wearing a brassy-colored collar. Before he even knew what he was doing, he reached out and put his hand on the young canine's shoulder, smiling down on him, the side of his pinky brushing up against that collar. And in that contact, he drained away the power of the collar's crystal.

"What you doin', mister?" the young man asked.

"Oh, just admiring this handsome young Arcan," he said with a smile. The Arcan child stared up at him in surprise, and then his mouth dropped open when Kyven's eyes began to glow. "May the spirits bless you, little one," he told him.

The young canine gave him the most curious look, like he had no idea what Kyven was, but was certain that something important and unusual had just happened. Kyven just smiled, leaning closer to the small canine and patting him on the shoulder. He then put his thumbs under his pack straps and strolled towards the road leading to Tobacco Road like he had not a care in the world and was in no hurry to get wherever he was going.



The Loreguard was no doubt hunting him by now, convinced he had escaped Avannar, and would be combing the Free Territories looking for him.

But, Kyven felt that he had an advantage. If they believed that he was Kyven Steelhammer, then the first direction they'd be looking was west, towards Atan. Kyven had a history in Atan, and he knew that country well, so they might think that he would seek out familiar trails and friends that would help him even as a fugitive. But that also didn't mean that they didn't have every Loremaster and Loreguard patrol on Tobacco Road keeping an eye out for a tall, raven-haired young man that would be either traveling alone or with Arcans.

Their problem was simple. They were dealing with someone who didn't leave any trail they could follow.

Kyven never appeared to the same farmstead or sleepy village with the same face. He was always polite and cordial, but he also didn't stay or utilize any inns or visit any cafés or inns or taverns. He simply walked into town, walked through town, and then walked out of town. The only thing that anyone noticed about him was that the man -- or woman, when his illusion was that of a woman -- would stop and greet every single Arcan, put a hand on the Arcan's shoulder, and then move on. That was very curious behavior.

What was even more curious was the rash of runaway Arcans that followed his departure, as Arcans realized their collars no longer worked, slipped them, and bolted for the forests.

For his part, he wasn't entirely sure why he was draining every collar he came across, but he was. It was almost like a compulsion, a need to set things right whenever he saw a collar. He was often doing it before he even knew what he was doing.

Though Kyven's appearance gave the Loreguard no way to track him down or find him, his behavior was consistent enough for some to take notice of it. Two Loreguard riding exhausted horses were asking questions in a little village through which he walked a couple of days after leaving Fried, as he neared Riyan, and they were asking about a lone traveler that seemed to be traveling south along the road that had an unusual interest in Arcans. No one in the village had seen such a person, and Kyven simply strolled through the village while the Loreguard were busy questioning everyone, and the two Loreguard cantered their tired horses past a dog laying lazily in the grass by the road south of the village, which was actually Kyven in disguise.

About five minars south of the village, out where nobody was around to see anything, those two Loreguard mysteriously disappeared. Not an hour later, Kyven Steelhammer was riding a brand new horse south towards Riyan, leading a second horse, both of which equipped with gear that looked like it was standard issue Loreguard, but had none of the official emblems.

Those hadn't been that hard to pry off the saddles. It was a good thing that the Loreguard didn't brand their horses, he mused, they instead used an alchemical device that caused the hair to literally glow with magical light to form the Loremaster symbol on the rear flank of every horse, which also doubled as a means for the Loreguard to locate their horses by using an alchemical device, tracking them by those magical brands. The vast majority of horse thieves didn't have a grounder, so the Loreguard didn't worry all that much about someone figuring out some way to remove that magical mark.

Unfortunately for them, a Shaman would find getting rid of that mark child's play, even a half-trained Shaman like Kyven.

Kyven wouldn't keep something so distinct, though. He sold the extra horse and got rid of the saddles and bridles, kept the saddlebags, and bought a new nondescript saddle and bridle in a sleepy little village that was about ten minars off Tobacco Road, on a country lane that drifted off to the east. He hadn't really planned on riding a horse, but he'd been broke when those Loreguard showed up, and in addition to their horses they were a veritable treasure trove of equipment Kyven could sell or trade for equipment or food. The horse he decided to keep was a rather large, burly roan, barrel-chested and powerful. This wasn't a racing horse, this was a horse born and bred in the Smoke Mountains, a mountain horse that could ride up and down steep hills, the kind of horse that could walk all day and all night and still be ready to go after a short rest and a little food. The roan wouldn't run very fast, but he could run all day . . . at least after some rest. The Loreguard had ridden them hard, and Kyven ambled along at a slow walk, leading the horses, the day after he "liberated" them from the Loreguard. After he reached the village, a night in the village livery did wonders for the burly animal, and he was refreshed and ready to go the next day.

So, thanks to the Loreguard questioners, Kyven now had a horse, two new shockrods, a talker that let him listen in on everything the patrolling Loreguard had to say, two pistols, two alchemical searchlights, a brand new tent, and a purse filled with 67 chits after buying a saddle and tack for his new roan.

He got a good price for that horse.

Riding slow gave Kyven time to adjust to the idea of being on a horse, and also didn't attract much attention to him. He hadn't ridden very much since leaving Atan, and truth be told, he could probably run most horses into the ground. He was far more conditioned than most men, and could run all day if he wanted to do so, a feat a horse couldn't match. But they were looking for someone on foot that was overly friendly to Arcans, and the horse was a convenient means to carry his gear in addition to helping conceal him from the Loreguard. He wasn't a bad rider, he knew how and had had just enough practice back home to not fall out of the saddle and break his butt, but a little more practice wouldn't hurt. Besides, riding the horse actually felt better to his injured ankles, though the bouncing around in the saddle made his injuries throb a bit.

He was on the horse when the city of Riyan came into view as he crested a gentle rise. It looked just as he remembered, except this time he wouldn't be stopped and questioned by a sexy Loreguard officer.

Too bad.

What he did, see, however, was stark evidence of what was coming. Scattered in camps all over the north of the city, but just outside it, was a veritable sea of tents. This was where the Loremasters were massing their armies for what was coming. Some of these men would be marching over the mountains to fight the Arcans . . . though they didn't know that yet. Some would be fortifying the mountain villages and crystal-producing regions of the mountains. Some would be deployed here in the human lands to fend off the kingdoms of Noraam that would oppose the Loremasters' plans by force. He looked out and saw that there had to be 10,000 men camped along the grassy slopes north of Riyan, and this couldn't be even a quarter of the tens of thousands of men the reports said were here. The city had to be all but surrounded by Loreguard armies. Also here, he remembered, were literally every single Loremaster-owned Arcan, collected from every corner of Noraam and brought here in preparation for sending them over the Smoke Mountains, to force them to build the forts they would use out there as a base to establish their claim on Arcan territory.

He, a wanted man, was about to ride through the very heart of the enemy's military forces. But he had no choice. His destination was somewhere to the south, and so he would move on, depending on his illusions and his horse to conceal who he was.

He rode through town without stopping, and without looking around too much. There were a great many Arcans here, and for once, he had to control his impulses to keep the Loreguard from knowing he was in town. According to the talkers, they'd lost him somewhere between the villages of Herigo and Vaiya, but they didn't know if it was Kyven. They had orders to track down anyone that attracted any unusual attention or acted in an unusual manner, and Kyven's behavior had caused them to take notice.

They sure as hell knew he'd escaped, for he found himself confronting an image of himself on a poster nailed to a board near the road. Under his rather accurate likeness was the message:



REWARD!

5,000CC.

Must Be Turned In Alive.

Wanted for Murder
.



Kyven was rather flattered that they'd offer a 5,000 chit reward for him. That was high enough for every bounty hunter in the Free Territories to start checking under every rock for him, but not so high that people wondered if he'd murdered half of Avannar that he was worth so much bounty. He also thought it was amusing that his supposed crime was literally fine print on the wanted poster.

"Well, that might be worth a look around," a grizzled older man said, with the looks of a woodsman, as he looked at the poster from beside Kyven's horse. "Wonder what he done did. Murder, eh?"

"Nah, that's just what they say he did," Kyven said with a chuckle. "I was there in Avannar when it happened."

"You was there? What he did?"

"He's a Shaman," Kyven said. "A human Shaman, if you can believe such a thing is possible. He escaped from the Black Keep after they caught him. They tore the city apart looking for him, to the point where a man without roots such as myself decided to go see if it's still hot in Lanna this time of year."

"Usually," the woodsman said thoughtfully in reply. "They knows he's a Shaman?"

"That's what I heard, from the son of a Loreguard in a tavern who heard it from his pa. He said the man said he was a Shaman, and said they found one of the jailors hanging in his chains, and not a whisper of him, like he just vanished into thin air. Ain't nobody saw a single thing, just poof, gone. Don't know how much you can set store by it, though. He mighta been lyin' just to make himself sound impressive, but I don't see how a normal man could escape from the Black Keep, and that, I know he did. I heard it straight from a Loreguard when I asked what the fuss was about."

"Amen to that, neighbor," the older man nodded soberly. "I had the bad luck of spending a month in the Black Keep when a disagreement in a bar got bloody. I don't see how nobody could escape from that place, unless he's got alchemy . . . or he's a Shaman." He looked at the poster again. "I don't see how a human can be a Shaman, though."

"On that, my friend, we're both stumped," he said with a light smile the man couldn't see. "But he had to be something to walk out of the Black Keep without anyone seeing even a hair of him."

"True enough," he agreed. "If he is a Shaman, it ain't worth no five thousand to go get killed tryin' to catch him. Think I'll wander back to the tavern. Want to sit a spell, traveler?"

"No thanks. I hear Lanna calling my name, friend."

"Well, ain't a man who can resist the call of the road," he chuckled, patting the roan's flank. "And that's a mighty fine horse."

"Thanks. He's always been dependable."

"Mountain horse. Always the best horse for the long road."

"I see you know your horses, my friend."

"He got a name?"

"Spirit," Kyven said with a small smile.

And so, he and his newly named horse ambled out of Riyan, through another sea of Loreguard tents south of the city, past a huge fenced area holding what looked like a few thousand Arcans, and ambled out of sight. Riding was certainly different from walking, and aside from the strange pressure it put on his backside, it wasn't all that bad . . . though he preferred walking. But, the horse made him much less conspicuous, and so it helped with his disguise. More than once, Loreguard patrols rode by him, and though he was stopped once for them to inquire as to his destination, the horse seemed to throw them off his trail.

A day of easy riding after leaving Riyan, he found himself at a crossroads, as a rather large and well-traveled road led off to the west. He found himself turning down that road before he knew what he was doing, and understood that his destination lay somewhere off that way, off Tobacco Road. The horse settled into a nice ambling fast walk, nearly a canter, when he felt talons on his shoulder, and sensed the presence of a spirit. It was a small eagle, golden feathers gracing a surprisingly small body, and she settled on his shoulder. In that touch, there was communication. I bear a message from Clover, the spirit intoned. She is frenzied with worry for you, Shaman of the shadow fox. Are you well?

"I am well, sister eagle," he answered respectfully. "Injured and a little worse for wear, but I am well. Would you please be so kind as to let her know I am well and am following the path set before me by my totem?"

I can carry your message, Shaman of the shadow fox, as Clover bargained carrying your reply to her as well. Clover's message continues, however. She has accomplished her mission. The weapons of the Britons are now in the hands of the Masked and are being sent where they are needed, for the Masked accomplished the task quickly and without harm. She also informs you that Patches, Tweak, and Watcher are well. They have left Atan and travel west along with many of their brother and sister Arcans, fleeing back to Haven, where Patches and Tweak will take up positions of great importance teaching others what you taught them about cutting crystals. Lightfoot and Lucky, however, remain in Atan. Lightfoot awaits word of you, and intends to come to you, wherever you are. Lucky intends to follow Lightfoot wherever she goes. He has taken fancy to her.

"That's a surprise," Kyven chuckled. "I'm not sure how Lightfoot will find me."

Clover can find you, and Clover hastens to Atan. She should be there by late tomorrow.

"Well, if the spirits wish it for her to come to me, then I'll welcome her, even though I'm not sure yet what my totem wants me to do wherever I'm going," he said. "We are best friends and work well together."

Thus is why we do not object to her returning to you. Together, you and Clover are quite formidable.

"Thank you for the compliment, and thank you for bringing me the message, sister eagle. I truly appreciate it."

It is as was bargained, Shaman, the eagle replied calmly. Would that you could bargain with me so I could heal your wounds, but sister shadow fox would take most unkindly to my lack of manners. Would that you bargain with her for her boon?

"I know better," he said simply. "Every bargain you make with her ends with her taking far more from you than you intended. I'll live with the pain."

Truly, you have become wise in your short time as a Shaman, human, the eagle noted, amused. Sister shadow fox has the snake's cunning and the wolverine's temperament.

"That's the truth," he grunted. "But thank you for your compassion. It comforts me, sister eagle."

Compassion is love, Shaman, and love is the greatest thing there is, she answered. I will return to Clover with your answer, as was bargained. Fare well, human, and know that we are pleased with your service thus far. You have proved that humans can be true Shaman.

Kyven felt her talons release his grip on him, and the sense of her faded. "Well, it's nice to know I'm going to get some trusted company, Spirit," he told his horse. "Not that you haven't been a good companion, but at least they can speak."

The horse snuffled haughtily and urged out to a full canter.

"Alright, alright, take your own pace," he chuckled, loosening the reins in his hands and letting the horse canter along.

Kyven encountered only one patrol of Loreguard and quite a few other travelers along the western road, that looked to go towards Doram, which was just inside the kingdom of Carin, which bordered the Free Territories to the south. Carin was a very small kingdom bordered by the vast kingdom of Georvan to the south, the sea to the east, and the mountains to the west. Georvan dominated southern Noraam, running from New Jacktown to Hatera, the eastern cape of Noraam dominated by barrier islands. Cheston was within Georvan, but it was independent of Georvan and used to be part of a kingdom known as South Carin before Georvan conquered it some two centuries ago. Carin itself used to be called North Carin until then, but when South Carin became no more, people stopped calling it that and just called it Carin. The other travelers often stopped him to chat a moment, as was the friendly way within the Free Territories, and the Loreguard patrol he encountered seemed to not really care about him very much, riding past him without questioning him. This, Kyven knew from the talker, was because they honestly had no idea where he was, they were still searching for him, but he'd been gone for so long that they no longer believed that he was in the Free Territories. They were focusing their search north of him and to the west, thinking that he would flee towards Atan and the Smoke Mountains, going back to familiar territory and where he had friends that might help him hide or escape.

For two days, Kyven traveled southwest away from Tobacco Road. His wrists and ankles were healing, albeit slowly, but he could tell after changing the bandages that he would have some ugly scars on his wrists. His flesh had been pulled, twisted, pinched, and torn by his weight, almost to the bone on his left arm, but he could live with it. He'd lost no mobility in either hand, had suffered no permanent damage, and he'd live with the scars if it meant his left hand wasn't a stiffened claw for the rest of his life. His ankles weren't as badly injured, and they had healed most of the way. His left ankle had completely closed over in scabs, and his right was nearly there.

He camped the first night near a small stream back away from the road, in a tiny clearing barely large enough for his tent, and the second night he camped in a grassy meadow on the very top of a hill that overlooked a tobacco plantation . . . which literally covered the entire region. Small strips of forest or unclaimed land marked the boundaries between the plantations, and the road traveled between them in a nearly straight line, often turning sharply to the right or left to follow the boundaries. He saw hundreds of Arcans working in the fields, and somewhat surprising to him, the plantation hands did not ride over to talk with him.

About an hour after he broke camp and rode on, he crested a small hill and reined the horse in so sharply he almost reared. To his right, he saw it. A plantation on two very low, gentle hills, with a stream that crossed the road flowing in the shallow valley between them. The plantation house, a very large affair that was actually the crown of several buildings in a compound, stood in that valley far back from the road, and there was a whitewashed rail fence bordering the road that had a gate blocking a lane leading along that valley and to the house.

This was the place. This was where his totem told him he needed to go.

This was where his Walk would end. And after that . . . he guessed he would take his place among his brother and sister Shaman.

But what was he to do here? His totem didn't tell him that . . . maybe he had to figure it out for himself. Or maybe she would tell him now that he was here.

But one thing seemed clear to him. Here, there would be no hiding. No illusions, no lies, no tricks, no guile and deceit. He would walk in leading his horse, and he would proudly proclaim himself.

"This is it, fella," Kyven noted to his horse, then he dismounted. "This is where we're supposed to be." The horse nickered and nudged him with his nose, and he chuckled and reached up and patted him. "I could let you go, you know. I'm not sure I'm going to need a horse now."

The horse snorted and pushed at him again.

"Alright, but I gave you the chance," he said lightly, patting him on the neck. "Let's go see what kind of mischief we can stir up, Spirit."

He felt anxious more than nervous as he reached the gate, and then opened it and walked in, the horse following him. He padded calmly down the lane as the Arcans took notice of him. There were dozens of them here, all of them with hollow eyes and blank expressions, the expressions of Arcans who'd had all life and happiness beaten out of them long ago. These were slaves, in every sense of the word. The humans here didn't even really need the collars. Just like those females that sat down on the beach and waited for someone to come get them, these Arcans had become slaves in mind as well as body.

But why was he here? He could find Arcans like this on almost any plantation. Some owners and foremen were kindly, but on big places like this, most of them were not. They saw Arcans as a commodity, as numbers, as faceless living machines whose sole purpose was to work . . . work until they died. Then they just butchered the body to feed to the other machines and buy another one. So, what was special about this place? What made his spirit send him nearly a week from Avannar to come to this most particular plantation? Was it its location, well away from the bustle of Tobacco Road, yet conveniently close to the Smoke Mountains? Was there a specific person or Arcan here that would help him in his next task? Or was there a lesson waiting to be learned here, the last lesson that the fox would teach on his Walk? She said that his Walk would end at this place, and when he left it, he would be walking the path of the Shaman.

Perhaps that was his task, to figure out what she wanted him to do here. But, to do that, he'd need some information . . . and to gather information, he'd need to use a little guile and deceit. Just enough to keep the entire plantation from either attacking him or fleeing in terror.

A lone human on a horse crested the hill to his left and ahead of him, hesitated, the cantered down a path between sections of tobacco plants and hurried towards him. He was a tall young man, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a pleasant face, if not a handsome one, though he did have a scar over his left eye. "Hold, stranger," the man called as he came down off the hill. "What business do you have here?"

Kyven regarded the man calmly. "I was sent here," he said evenly.

"Sent? Fella, we're full up. I'm sorry if they told ya wrong. Who told you we had work? Jessup?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Kyven said lightly.

"Well, guess you can come along and get some lunch, traveler, before you head back. No need for you to leave hungry."

"Sure, that sounds good," he said, mounting his horse.

He followed along behind the hand, looking at the Arcans. They had quite a few, and the plantation just rolled out past those hills for quite a ways. Whoever owned this place had a lot of money and a lot of land. He also saw that they grew more than tobacco. Behind the house and to the right, there were rows and rows of corn, and there were other food plants beside those leading to a fence.

"Pretty big place," Kyven noted, looking around.

"Yeah, it's a handful to work," the hand grunted. "I'm Trevon."

"Kyven," he offered.

"That name sounds . . . familiar somehow. Ever been through this part of the territories, friend?"

"No, my first time here," he answered.

"Eh, thought I may have heard of ya. Anyway, yeah, the old man got nearly sixty akes of farmed land, and there ain't nobody behind us. Nothing out west but the mountains."

"Old man? Who owns this place?"

"General Wilson Danvers, Esquire," the hand Trevon said with a grunt.

"He sounds charming," Kyven said grimly.

"Pensioned from the Loremasters, bought this spread."

"Danvers? The hero of Balton?"

"That's him," he nodded. "He relives that battle every other night at the dinner table. I think every hand on the plantation can recite it from memory." The Balton Incident was the last major Arcan rebellion . . . such as it was. A large kennel in Ocean City was taken over, a few hundred Arcans escaped, and they fled, sacking farms and plantations, gathering up weapons, and freeing every Arcan they could find along the way. The Loreguard went after them, and caught up to them just outside Balton. What made it notorious was that the Arcans fought back, for they knew they'd be killed no matter what, so they had nothing to lose. General Danvers was outnumbered when the Arcans attacked, by nearly three to one, but his men managed to crush the rebellion, and they slaughtered every single Arcan. That happened some fifteen years ago, within Kyven's lifetime.

"Sounds like you don't like him too much."

"He's a fancy dandy, and I don't cotton much to dandies," Trevon growled. "But he pays well and he's a fair man when it comes to his hired hands, and I only have to get close to him once a day. His foreman manages the plantation, he just rides around on his horse, entertains guests, and enjoys his retirement."

"Seems like he uses a heavy hand with his Arcans," Kyven noted, glancing at a small mouse walking down the lane carrying a water bucket, her eyes down.

"He don't give a shit about anything but his medals, pardon my language," Trevon answered. "Bull, the foreman, he'll beat an Arcan for any reason, even if he has to make one up."

"Sounds like you don't like him."

"Not too fond of him, no, but I don't have to like him to work with him. He knows farms and he knows farmin', and he's why this place makes money. Danvers don't know one side of the hoe from the other."

They rode up into the main compound of the house, barns, and other utility buildings. They dismounted and tied their horses to a rail near the stables, and Trevon led him to what looked like a small dorm, like the one at the inn in Avannar. On farms and ranches, though, they were called bunkhouses. Trevon brought him into the common room of the bunkhouse, which already had three men in it as well as a small brown-furred dog and a gray-furred rat Arcan, both wearing collars, and both with swollen faces. They were utterly silent as they served the men plates of beans, boiled corncobs, chicken, and beer. The three men at the long table had the look of men who worked with their hands. The youngest was about eighteen, the oldest nearly forty from the look of him, wearing dirty denim overalls, cotton shirts, and all three had wide-brimmed hats hanging from their backs by a leather cord around their necks. "Hey fellas," Trevon said. "Got a traveler come through, offered him a bite before he moves on."

"Hey there, traveler, welcome," the oldest of the three said, waving him in. "I'm Jack. This ugly fella here beside me is Geral, and the youngster is Vick."

"Kyven," he mirrored, nodding to the man.

One of the men, Geral, dropped his fork. "Kyven? That name sounds, dunno, I heard it before."

"I guess it's a popular name around here, Trevon said the same thing," Kyven said mildly as he accepted a plate from the rat Arcan with a nod.

"So where you off to, Kyven?" the man Jack asked.

"Here," he answered calmly. "I was sent here, to this very plantation."

"By who?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Then you must be here to see the General," Jack grunted. "They trying to lure him out of retirement?"

"Got me. They didn't send me either."

"Then why are you here?" the youngest, Vick, asked.

"Dunno," he shrugged, then took a bite. "Just know I'm supposed to be here. I'll figure out why when I poke around a bit, I guess. I was just told where to be. I wasn't told why."

"Well, son, that sounds a bit . . . strange," Jack noted.

"You're not the first person to call me strange, Jack," he chuckled, reaching down and unbuckling his belt holding all his captured weapons, and then dropping it on the table. "That should ease your mind a bit. I don't think I was sent here to start trouble. If that's all I was sent to do, well, I passed plenty of other plantations on my way here. And I wouldn't bring trouble to men who invited me to lunch no matter what."

"Almost sounds like you're a Trinity monk," Trevon chuckled. "Following some inner voice."

"Or the voices in my head," Kyven added, which made Trevon laugh. He sensed her appear within the room, the shadow fox. He glanced towards the door and saw her sitting there sedately, tail wrapped around her front legs, glowing eyes fixed on him unwaveringly. But she didn't speak out, content merely to watch for the moment.

Her appearance caused him to again evaluate this place, looking at it with an impartial eye. The hands seemed decent men, friendly and not judgmental after his wild remarks, accepting him at their table. From what he heard, the main antagonist on the farm was the foreman, Bull, who sounded as mean as a snake. The owner, Danvers, was seen as a hero, having put down a small Arcan rebellion ten years ago, but he seemed to have no care for the workings of his plantation, allowing Bull to run it as he pleased while he enjoyed his retirement.

Retirement. The man was ex-Loreguard, and had been a very high-ranking officer. Was he why Kyven was sent to this particular plantation? Kyven doubted he'd been sent down here to kill the man. No, the fox deemed it important that Kyven be here, and the General had something to do with it. This is where you will begin, she told him. But begin what seemed to be the question.

One thing was plain. No matter what he was to do here, getting rid of Bull was going to be on his agenda. The faces of the two servers in the room were swollen from being beaten, and they moved like they had other injuries hidden under their fur. Men like Bull, who hurt others for their own amusement, had no business nor place in this world. Even if there were no Arcans, they'd still hurt things . . . probably dogs and cats and other small, defenseless animals, even women and children. Anything that could not hurt them back. Kyven had been on the receiving end of a man with similar sadism, and he wouldn't allow men like Arthur Ledwell to roam the world when he knew about them.

"It does sound a bit crazy," Jack told him. "But any man willing to take his pistol belt off and sit a meal with us nobodies is crazy to begin with," he grinned.

"Why, thank you, Jack. You make it sound like this crazy man is in like company."

They ate their meal with amiable chatter, as Kyven gently yet carefully urged more information out of them. There were twelve farmhands that worked under Bull, who ran the farm. They ate lunch in shifts, he learned, so there were hands out directing the nearly hundred Arcans that worked the farm. The General had little to do with his plantation except he lived upon it, and spent his days riding his thoroughbred horses by day and attending parties or entertaining the upper class of owners and important people by night. He was a man fully enjoying his retirement, who seemed relatively harmless as things go outside of his blind eye to the sadistic bent of his foreman. But for an ex-Loreguard like him, the treatment of the Arcans he owned probably never crossed his mind. If he had a similar mindset that Danna'd had at first, he wouldn't care. The Loremasters taught their people not only that Arcans were animals, but that it was entirely alright, even encouraged, to mistreat them.

And soon, all the Arcans would be gone. The entire backbone of Noraavi society would collapse, he realized, for the kingdoms of Noraam absolutely depended on the slave labor they employed. But just like the crystals, the days of the slave era were numbered. Haven was moving, and once they were out in the open, they wouldn't stop until all the Arcans were free of the collars. There would be war . . . or there would have been, if the Loremasters were not in the middle mucking things up. The double whammy of losing the crystals and losing the Arcans would cause violent upheaval in Noraam, and that was unavoidable.

There could be no happy endings for everyone.

The humans would suffer for losing the Arcans, and there was no way that Haven could soften that blow, no matter how hard they tried. If they warned the humans ahead of time, they might respond with violence against their Arcans or go to war to keep them. What had to be done was what Clover suggested, to free the Arcans from within before the humans realized what was happening, and then just flee with them back over the mountains. The only way to save the Arcans was to cause harm to the human race, unavoidable harm.

Was that why he was here? To start an Arcan revolt, like Clover had considered?

No. All things considered, he was a poor choice to lead Arcans. For one, even though he was a Shaman, he was still human. The other Shaman accepted him, but Arcans who had no idea of him would not. They would see him as a human. They would only follow him after they were certain he was on their side, and in something like a revolt, where they had to move quickly, he wouldn't have the time to convince Arcans at every farm and plantation to follow him. As a human, he would get the obedience of the slaves, but not the loyalty of the fighters . . . and he'd need loyalty far more than obedience. Besides, he had no idea how to manage a large group.

What Kyven could do, however, is move effortlessly and without hindrance through Noraam. He was human, and unlike any other Shaman, he did not have to hide and move carefully. He could mount a horse and ride anywhere he pleased. He understood human customs, and was the only Shaman who could function in a fully human situation, because he was human.

He was not fit to lead an Arcan revolt . . . but the one thing he could do would be to speak for it. Clover was coming. Clover and Lightfoot both. With Clover to lead the Arcans and Lightfoot to teach them to fight, and Kyven to scout ahead to sniff out the locations of plantations and track down Loreguard, maybe even trick and misdirect them, a large number of Arcans could move about with little resistance, and might force the Loremasters to tie up the large army they had massing near Riyan to deal with an uprising, further giving Haven and Flaur time to set up. His training had been as a spy, and his forte was guile and deceit.

The one thing Kyven could do over any other Shaman was use his skills and training to wreak havoc through the Free Territories. The primary goal of all of this was to prevent the Loremasters from gaining a foothold in Arcan territory, for it was out there, away from Noraam, where they intended to try to build the machine, and from that base they would try to gain access to the original machine that created the Arcans. But beyond that, the Loremasters had to be destroyed. If they were denied their plans to form their own kingdom out in the frontier as a secure base to build their machine, they may decide to build it in the one place where they had absolute control . . . Avannar.

Kyven hadn't been trained to lead Arcans or run an army, he had been trained to be a quiet, skulking spy, and when needs be, an assassin. To put him in control of an army of slave Arcans was a waste of his training and skills. No, the fox had something else in mind, and he had a sudden feeling he was about to find out what it was.

The door opened, and two men stepped in. One was a huge man, both tall and wide, with a balding pate of brown hair and a brutish, unpleasant face, wearing farmer's coveralls and a cotton shirt. The other man was a tall, slender man of a strong bearing, wearing black breeches tucked into knee-high boots polished to a sheen, a red riding waistcoat with split tails with a linen shirt under it, and a wide-brimmed hat with a chin strap. The man had a military bearing, and Kyven knew immediately that this man had to be the plantation owner, General Wilson Danvers.

Danvers gave Kyven a long, calm look. Then, to the shock of every man in the room, he pulled out his pistol, put the muzzle against the back of the big man's head, and blew his brains out. Blood and gore flew in an arc from the exit wound, and the big man collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap. "Father, I've wanted to do that for six months," he said with an explosive sigh, stuffing his pistol back into his belt holster.

"G-General, what the hell?" Jack asked in shock.

"I won't tolerate his vicious ways another minute, not after what he did over by the Simmons farm to Miss Delilah."

"Bull did that?" Jack said with a sudden scowl.

"He did. I just came back from there, and they proved it was him enough for me to take action. The Sheriff gave me leeway to handle the matter myself." He turned to Kyven. "Master Steelhammer, I welcome you to Twin Hills. Please, come up to the main house. I've been waiting for you."

"The wanted poster!" the youngest said, snapping his fingers. "That's where I done seen him before!"

"That's right, Vick, though I know for a fact from my old Loreguard friends that the charges are false. He was framed. Master Steelhammer had every good right to run, and you'll not say a single word that he's here," Danvers said, to which all three men nodded calmly. "Now be good boys and bury that piece of trash somewhere far off my property. No doubt the grass that grows over him will be diseased. And congratulations, Jack, you're my new foreman. I'm sure you'll do the plantation proud."

"Yes sir, General Danvers," Jack said, standing up. "We'll see to it."

A little startled, Kyven followed the thin, sturdy man out of the bunkhouse and towards the main house. "Was it a rough roll to get here?" he asked conversationally.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Kyven answered. "How did you know I was coming?"

"Welcome to a stop along the Network, Master Steelhammer. But down here, we call it the Freedom Trail."

"You're in the Masked," Kyven noted, then he chuckled when Danvers nodded.

"As are about half my men, though the other half don't know it," he said. "But now that you're here, they won't work here much longer, since the plantation won't be here either."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll discuss it inside," he said.

"I'm curious how the hero of Balton ended up on this side."

"It's because of Balton," he answered when they mounted the porch. A slender little canine female with brown fur, in a pretty blue wool dress, opened the door for them, and she took Danvers' hat with a smile and a nod. "But that's a long story for when we have time. I've received orders, and now that you're here, we'll carry them out."

"I haven't been told what we're doing, General."

He gave Kyven a slight look as they moved through a richly appointed foyer which had a large pair of bronze-covered double doors at the far side, giving the foyer a bit of elegant class. "I'm coming out of retirement, son," he said simply. "I've been told what the Loremasters are trying to do, and they're maniacs. They have to be stopped. Right now, in the forests behind the plantation, I have nearly three thousand men camped. They're not Masked, but they're loyal to my name and the chits I pay them, and they'll fight. As soon as those Briton rifles get here, we're marching out."

"We're attacking Avannar?" he asked, in surprise.

Danvers shook his head. "Riyan. Our mission is to free the Arcans collected by the Loremasters, which are to be marched out towards the mountains at the end of the month. We were promised a Shaman to help with the operation, and they sent you. And with you here, we have a damn good chance. I've been told your specialty is infiltration and covert action."

"It is," Kyven nodded. "But you'll get more than just me. There's another Shaman in the area, and she's coming to join us."

"She? Clover's coming?" Kyven nodded, and it caused Danvers to laugh lightly. "I feel a whole lot better about this, I was afraid it was going to be Stalker they send, and instead I get a Shaman perfect for what we have to do and Clover, who'll be perfect for the second phase of the operation. Anyway, as far as you're concerned, if you can get inside and get the Arcans ready to move, we can do this fast and with minimal risk," he explained as they moved through a dining room and to an office just off a hallway behind it, which had a single window that looked out over the barn and corral, a corral holding several fine-looking horses. "Things are coming to a head, Shaman," he said. "Once I have the Arcans, my orders are to arm them with anything I can find and march them south, picking up every Arcan we can find along the way, which is where Clover will be very useful. She can talk a rattlesnake into biting its own tail. We're marching on Cheston."

"Cheston?"

He nodded. "I have orders to take it and hold it until I get relief, only I have no idea who that will be. But I'll do it, because it needs to be done. With enough Arcans and my soldiers there to command them, I can hold the city for a year against a force five times bigger than mine." He sat down at his desk. "The Loremasters are going to tear Noraam apart, and that can't be allowed," he said in a gruff voice. "They intend to start a war. Well, we're making sure we get the first shot."

"How much of it do you know?" Kyven asked.

"I've been told that the crystals are almost gone," he said, looking up at Kyven. "And the Loremasters are going to take advantage of the social unrest that'll create to try to take over all of Noraam, as well as push human territory west of the Smoke Mountains. I have lots of friends in the Loreguard, and they've been keeping me up on what's going on, son, and it's exactly what the Masked said. They're getting ready for major action. They're going to march into the mountains and take over all the remaining crystal-producing areas, and then dig in like there's no tomorrow and defend those resources against anyone that tries to take them. In addition to that, a group of twenty thousand soldiers and every Arcan and hired laborman they can find is scheduled to leave at the end of the month, and I managed to find out where. Their destination is where the Deep River and the Snake River merge, a very long ways west of here. They're not just sending men and slaves, son, they're sending enough building materials and supplies to build a city. That tells me everything I need to know right there. They're gonna bunker up at a critical tactical position like the meeting place of two major navigable rivers, and they have no earthly reason to do that unless they intend to make that presence permanent. From that position, the outpost can get supplies from either the Deep or Snake Rivers, from Two River by way of the Cuman Pass or from Nurys or Alexton, and it gives them a river route into the upper plains of the Snake River Valley, hell, all the way over to the Stone Mountains on the far side of the continent. Anyone who controls that point controls those rivers, anyone who controls those rivers controls movement through the frontiers of the prairies of central Noraam, and you have no reason to control those rivers unless you intend to use them.

"I found all this out about two weeks ago," he grunted as he poured himself a drink from a bottle on his desk. "I got the orders to take direct action about six days ago, about the same time you escaped from Avannar. I called in every soldier I could find, men who have a grudge against the Loremasters and would love nothing better than to pay them back, men who will fight, and most of them have arrived. Our mission is to stop those armies from deploying, and we'll do that by forcing them to stay on this side of the mountains to deal with a sudden armed insurrection against the Loremasters. We'll strip them of their slave labor by raiding Riyan, then we'll beat feet south. All my men are mounted and Arcans can move a hell of a lot faster than human infantry, so we'll have no trouble outrunning the Loreguard on our way south. We'll hit Cheston, free the fighting Arcans they love to raise there, and then give them a chance to give back what they got after we bunker in at Cheston and fight off the counterattack. Then we hold the city until reinforcements arrive."

"A pretty crazy plan."

"Sometimes crazy works," he said simply in reply. "And it has surprise on its side. The Loreguard will never in their wildest dreams expect an attack on Riyan, and since my men will be armed with rifles that will let them decimate any resistance from far out of musket range, we'll stand a good chance of accomplishing our mission there. Reports I've got on Riyan shows that their security and precautions are very lax. The city is just begging for someone to come along and raid the fuck out of it, and put the fear of the Father into my old Loreguard compatriots. They're acting like they're on leave, not in a war . . . well, we're gonna teach them just what they're in for. After that, we just move south and collect up every Arcan we can find, to either fight with us or deny the Loremasters from taking them to replace the Arcans we take from Riyan. Without their slave labor force, they'll be delayed trying to find builders to replace them. Meanwhile, I've been told that elements of the Masked are going to try to take over Atan and Two Rivers, to deny the Loremasters routes into the Smoke Mountains. The only two passes that can handle wagons are the Cuman Pass up Two River way and the South Pass southwest of here, but they'll find organized resistance that will make them pay in blood for every wagon they get through the mountains.

"That's my job," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Your job is to help. You're supposed to be a spy and an assassin, the Shaman that managed to slip through the fingers of the Loremasters in Avannar for months before they finally caught you, and looking at you I can see why. A human Shaman . . . I bet they still can't bring themselves to believe it. I can use a man like you and your special talents. You'll go in first in Riyan and get the Arcans ready to move, which will make that raid a hell of a lot easier. After that you'll scout ahead of the army as we move south, disrupting communications, and doing what you can to keep them from finding us and pinning us down. They'll know where we've been by the trail we leave, but the key to getting to Cheston is making sure they can't organize in front of us and set a trap. From what I was told, I could send you into a town, and an hour later every Loremaster and Loreguard officer will be dead and every talker or other alchemical communication device will be hunted down and eliminated."

"I can do it," Kyven said with a nod.

"That's exactly what we'll need," the man said calmly. "With you running in front of us, we can get past population centers without the Loreguard knowing every move we make. The key to any military campaign is communication and intelligence, son. Whichever side knows more about the enemy and is able to communicate with the rest of the army more effectively wins, even if they're outnumbered. I intend to rob our opponents of both, and that's your primary objective. You will blind the Loreguard to keep them from knowing where we are and where we're going, which will make it much harder for them to organize a response in front of us. That will make them chase us, and if they have to chase us, then we accomplish our mission of preventing those armies from deploying to the west. We get to Cheston, take it over, dig in, and wait. For what I'm not sure, but we'll wait."

"For Flaur, General," Kyven told him. "Flaur intends to fight. If we attack Cheston, the Flaurens will realize they have help, and they'll move."

"Really? Damn, we have a chance," he grinned. "If the Flaurens can do anything, son, it's fight."

"I just wonder how Georvan is going to react when we invade their territory."

"They'll applaud and cheer when we go right on past and hit Cheston. Georvan's been trying to annex Cheston for decades, but they've never quite managed it. It sticks in their craw that there's an independent city literally surrounded by Georvan territory, and sitting at the mouth of the Collia river besides. Cheston chokes off the river trade of Georvan's river cities, and they'd love nothing better for Cheston to get themselves invaded by some other army. They'll just set up to march in and take over after we pull out. The bigger question is, what will Georvan do when they find out what the Loremasters are doing," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "If Flaur intends to fight, they'll need permission from Georvan to move their troops north. The king of Georvan is no fool, however. Odds are, he'll just add his own armies to Flaur's as they come up from the peninsula. No king wants to see the Loremasters take control of Noraam, because it means he loses his crown to the Circle." He leaned back. "The wild card will be Carin. The kingdom is much smaller than Georvan and the Free Territories, and the king knows he's in a very precarious position. He may not fight against the Loremasters, but he may not help them either. A weak kingdom always has to play its cards carefully or it gets swallowed up by a stronger one, the very way South Carin was swallowed up by Georvan."

Kyven was impressed. This General Danvers was a very intelligent man, but he also had a very firm grasp on the politics of the kingdoms of Noraam.

"We'll be moving as soon as those rifles get here."

"The Briton rifles?"

He nodded. "They're on their way here now. Armed with those rifles, my men and any Arcans that fight with us have a major tactical advantage. Those rifles have double the accurate range of a musket and fire ten times faster. As soon as they get here, we move across country so they don't see us coming. We collect up my Arcans and my hands, the army will come out, and we ride, hit Riyan, then pull back to the south."

"I'm still surprised they're not sending us against Avannar."

"We'd get wiped out, son. Avannar is a walled city, and they'd only have to hold out long enough for the army coming up from Riyan to catch up with us. Besides, think about it. If Flaur is really in this with us against the Loremasters, what we'll be doing is luring the Loreguard army into a position where they'll be counterattacked by a larger force once they try to dig us out of Cheston, and then we reinforce the Flaurens as we march back to the north. Now that I know what's going on, I can see that that's the entire objective of our mission, to draw the Loreguard forces into a position where they can be attacked by the Flaurens. If we take out that army, then the Loreguard and the Loremasters are going to be in a pickle, because a very large army will be coming up from the south, and we'll have just wiped out a very large chunk of the available forces they would have had in position to try to stop us."

"I . . . see," he said with a nod. The General was exactly right. What they were doing was setting a trap, and it would be an effective one. The raid on Riyan would cause the Loreguard to chase them south, and if they chased them long enough, they'd run right into the Flaurens as they moved north. Despite the fact that the Loremasters knew that Flaur was going to go to war with them, they would have no choice but to go after Danvers and his army. One didn't just allow a hostile force to roam around within one's territory. Kyven rather doubted that they'd send the entire army after Danvers, at least until Danvers started conscripting Arcans to fight for him, Arcans who would do it because there was a Shaman with them. The Arcans would obey a Shaman . . . and that was one reason why Danvers needed a Shaman to accomplish his mission. With Clover there to bring Arcans into Danvers' army, it would quickly swell to a force large enough to force the Loremasters to send a large complement of the tens of thousands of men they had stationed around Riyan to destroy it.

It wasn't an Arcan rebellion . . . it was something much, much more devious. Where Kyven or Clover wouldn't have been able to pull of something like this because they had no idea how to do it, had no experience in military matters, the Masked had found someone that did have the kind of training and experience to conduct a military campaign against the Loremasters using Arcans freed from the collar and given a chance to fight for their freedom. With veteran human soldiers to help the untrained Arcans learn enough about fighting and soldiering to be useful, they had a good chance of drawing that Loreguard army to the south, digging in, then letting Flaur march up from their peninsula and wipe it out. The Loremasters, fearing an attack from Phion to the north, wouldn't commit their entire army to facing the Flaurens, and that would give them a chance to push deep into the Free Territories. If the Flaurens and their allies could defeat the Loreguard at Riyan, they had a good chance of taking Avannar.

And that would solve everyone's problems so far as the Loremasters went.

"Well, it'll push a bit, but I'm used to playing from behind the line," Kyven finally said. "I'm yours to command, General."

"Good. Now, just because I have to know . . . are you really a Shaman, Steelhammer?" Danvers' eyes widened when Kyven opened his eyes to the spirits, and then he laughed delightedly. "I never thought I'd see the day. But I think it's a good thing."

"I'm glad you feel that way, General."

"You look a bit travel worn, Master Steelhammer, so I'll have you set up with a room, a bath, and a chance to rest a bit."

"I'd like that, thank you. It's been a long ride, and all my clothes are getting a bit fragrant."

"Missy!" he called loudly. Almost immediately, the little canine opened the door to the study. "Take Master Steelhammer here and get him a room and draw him a bath, if you please, my dear. He'll be staying with us for a while, and he will be treated as an honored guest."

The little canine nodded, and offered her paw towards Kyven.

"Arcan servants?"

"It keeps up appearances, which is important given this plantation is a major stop along the Freedom Trail. Besides, this one can shoot your eyes out from two hundred rods, Steelhammer, and she's carrying a pepperbox pistol in that pretty little dress," Danvers smiled. "My Arcan helpers can protect themselves, and their collars are fakes. It's part of the deception."

"So, Bull was part of the deception?"

"Unfortunately," he grunted. "I hated it, but in his brutish way, he helped hide the truth of this place, because no one believed I'd ever be the type to be in the Masked. The Arcans that helped me were willing to endure his abuse to continue to help move Arcans along the trail, and for that I have tremendous respect for them. But he'd gotten too brutal, and last week he raped the daughter of another plantation owner up the road. The sheriff was going to come arrest him, but I talked him into letting me take care of it. Believe me, pulling that trigger was the high point of my whole week. I've wanted to kill that bastard since the day I hired him." He looked towards the canine. "Missy, if you didn't know, Kyven here is a Shaman, a human Shaman."

Her eyes widened, and she rushed up to him, taking his hand. "Will you bless me, Shaman?" she asked immediately.

"Of course, little one," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and reciting the ritual benediction, which nearly made her quiver with delight. "I'm glad me being a human doesn't bother you."

"A Shaman is a Shaman," she told him simply, leaning into his hand when he gently cupped her cheek. "Please come with me, honored Shaman. I'll see to your needs."

The little canine Missy took him upstairs, and to a room so large that he almost felt like he was in a workshop. It was dominated by a four-poster bed, complete with curtains, but also had a sitting sofa facing a large window that afforded one a spectacular view of the Smoke Mountains. The little canine turned down his bed for him despite the fact that it was only a little past noon, and then she stepped through a door on the far side of the room. He heard running water within the room, and it shouldn't have been a surprise to him that a house like this would have internal plumbing. She came out holding a towel and a robe. "The bath will be ready in a few minutes, Shaman," she informed him. "Would you like me to have your clothes washed?"

"That's kind of you, little one," he told her. "I could stand to have all my clothes washed, and just endure with the robe until they're done."

She nodded, then gave him a slightly startled look as he started undressing right then and there. "What?" he asked.

"You're much braver than most humans, Shaman," she told him, giving him an appraising look as he shrugged out of his vest and shirt. "Most would send me out to undress."

"I spent enough time among the Arcans to understand your customs, little one," he told her as he sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his boots and trousers, which left him nude before her. She helped him into the robe, and then put the towel on his shoulder and started collecting up his clothes.

"May I take the clothes from your pack, Shaman?"

"You're welcome to," he told her as he padded to the door from which the sound of water emanated. It was a large bathing room dominated by a huge ivory-colored tub, into which water flowed from a faucet. The water, he found with a touch, was hot, but not painfully so, and there was soap in a dish on the edge of the tub. A hole in the bottom of the tub, which was currently stoppered, would drain the water out of the tub by means of a pipe that sank into the floor when he was finished.

"Would you like anything else, honored Shaman?" she asked from the door.

"I'm good, thank you very much. I'm just looking forward to a nice hot bath, that's all."

After the bath was filled, he settled into the hot water, and felt the weariness of days of travel seep out of his muscles, and also to ponder the plan Danvers set out. It wasn't really Kyven's specialty, but he'd do what he could to help . . . and he could help. Danvers was right that Kyven would be best at infiltrating Riyan, disabling the collars of the Arcans held there, and be there to coordinate to get them out when the time came, when Danvers attacked. That attack would be a hit and run, hit hard at a point where Kyven would take out the Arcans, cover them as they escaped, then run like hell. It would be dangerous, the most danger to the Arcans themselves and to Kyven, who had to protect them as they fled from their pens. He would be the most exposed, at the most risk, but he would take that risk. There was no one better suited to the task than him. Nobody else could get inside, move through the Loreguard, reach the pens, and get the collars off the Arcans without getting killed. Afterward, he would protect the moving formation by moving in front of them, eliminating the ability of the Loreguard to communicate, which again was something which he was well suited to accomplish. He had the best chance of infiltrating a village, killing the resident Loremaster, eliminating the Loreguard command structure, and then destroying all alchemical devices anyone could use to warn of the moving army.

She was there. He opened his eyes and saw her sitting sedately on the surface of the water, over his legs, her tail wrapped around her front paws and her unblinking eyes regarding him. "Shadow fox," he said aloud, nodding his head to her. A mixture of anger and respect reared up in him, hatred and obedience. His feelings for his treacherous spirit were still jumbled, mixed, as he raged against her for everything she had done to him, yet was still her Shaman, still obeyed her utterly, even now that she no longer held his humanity over him like a carrot to entice him to obey. He had accepted his lot with dignity, accepted that he was her Shaman, and he would endure her cruelty if only for the good he could do for others.

He was needed. And for him, there would be no happy ending.

She unwound her tail from her legs and dipped it under the water, against his knee. And in that touch, there was communication. You have well pleased me, Shaman, she intoned, her voice . . . prideful. For now, do as the human needs. In time, you will return to Avannar to again delve the secrets of the Loremasters, but not now. Things change, and the Loremasters will change their plans to deal with changing events. When they have reset those plans, you will return to discover those changes. For now, you need time away for them to believe you gone for good, which is why I have urged you to be . . . visible away from Avannar. They need to see you are out of the city, so when you do return, they will believe you to be elsewhere. But until then, you will do what you can where you can.

She lowered her head, under his chin, then touched his upper chest with her nose. He distinctly felt something settle against his chest, and then she withdrew. He looked down, and saw that there was now a black foxhead medallion around his neck, just like the old one. It is exactly like the old one, she informed him, her tone . . . mischievous. You may need your Arcan body in the future, Shaman, and this will supply it to you.

"But it won't work anymore. Danna-"

Danna is still linked to you through this, Shaman. When I gave you back your humanity, I took it from her. She has replaced you as my shadow fox Arcan . . . and she is now mine. Now, when you take the Arcan form, she will supply it to you. Aside from the fact that it now allows you to take an Arcan form rather than a human one, it still operates exactly the same, Shaman.

Kyven actually laughed, without humor. Spirits, she had actually managed to trick Danna into bargaining away her humanity. And now, Danna was utterly in her thrall, for she had to obey the shadow fox to get back what was taken from her . . . just as Kyven had done. It showed just how treacherous his spirit was . . . and yet, he still would obey her.

What else could he do?

The coming mission will be dangerous, my Shaman.

"I understand the danger. I'll take the risk."

As it should be, she sniffed, then she dipped her head under the surface of the water and locked her jaws around his forearm. She pulled his arm out, which surprised him a little, then she began to lick the wound on his wrist, which was now half-healed. Her tongue was hot, and strangely soothing, as she licked away the pain. I would not send my Shaman out into danger while wounded, she intoned haughtily as she systematically licked away the wound on his wrist. The other one.

A little startled, he offered his other arm to her, and saw her expression was . . . pleased. She had surprised him, and she rather liked that fact. But that was just within her nature, he realized. This was all just part her of her little game, the game the two of them had been playing since the first day he saw her . . . though he'd not understood the game, or the rules, until after she had exploited them to all but allow her to win. She licked away all the pain, licked away the wound, then she startled him rather badly by leaning forward and licking him on the cheek. It was . . . gentle. Intimate. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the tub, but she simply chased him, licking at his cheek and neck like a puppy. You have finished your Walk, my Shaman, she announced as she licked at his ear. You now stand with your brothers and sisters as an equal, and may speak in council. What you learn from this day, you will not need my guidance to understand. You have gained wisdom. Know that I am pleased with you, Kyven Steelhammer, Shaman of the Shadow Fox. My Shaman, she announced proudly. Walk forth from this place with my full blessing, for so long as you give me your loyalty, I shall ever walk beside you.

And then, she taught him the final spell. It was a spell perfect for a being of guile and deceit. It was a spell of illusion, but this illusion was of the victim's own making, powered by Kyven's magic, and visible only to the victim. It delved into the fears of the victim and presented an illusion of what he feared most, which might cause them to flee in terror, freeze like a frightened rabbit, attack the illusion, however that particular person would respond to their deepest terror realized before them. It could be used to terrify attacking guards, torment a prisoner into giving up information, and if Kyven was cornered, it was one hell of a devastating means of striking back, in a way that could not be stopped.

It made perfect sense, given what kind of spirit he served.

According to her, his training was complete. He would still learn, still grow wiser, would still learn new spells by watching others and experimenting himself, but she would teach him no more. From this moment, he would walk forth as a Shaman of the Shadow Fox, and he had her full confidence.

That, at least, he fully believed.

"I will do my best, my spirit," he whispered.

I can ask for nothing more, nor nothing less, she answered evenly. I will leave you now, my Shaman. In a moment, you will be . . . busy, she intoned with amusement, and then the shadows converged around both of them. He felt what happened, he felt what she did, far more clearly this time than the last, when he had been exhausted and frightened. He felt the shadows respond to her call, felt them gather her up and form a . . . a bridge between one shadow and the next, a bridge formed by a strange place, a place not of the spirit world. It was a place of, of, of . . . shadows. She would be gathered up by one shadow, step through that other realm, and then emerge from another shadow on the other side. The shadows were the gateways into that other place, a place where a single step moved one from one shadow to another in the material world.

That was how she did it! And was absolutely convinced that with a little practice, he could learn to do it too, because now he understood how she did it!

He looked at his wrists, which were now fully healed, the skin smooth and unscarred, and could only chuckle. He doubted he would ever understand his spirit . . . and that was just the way she liked it.

There was stirring, movement out in the bedroom. Kyven put his hands on the lip of the tub to get up, but the door banged open, and Clover was standing there. She gave him one look, gave an excited squeal, and literally dove at him from all the way across the bathroom. She landed heavily in the tub, splashing water everywhere, licking his face with exuberance. He laughed and put his arms around him, and gave her a gentle squeeze. "I'm so happy to see you, my brother!" she exclaimed. "I was so worried!"

"I'm alright, sister, I'm alright," he told her, pushing her out enough to look at her. "You made good time getting here."

"I had plenty of motivation," she answered with a grin, slurping her tongue up his entire face, from chin to hairline, making him sputter, then laugh helplessly.

"Now get out of my bath, you silly coyote. You're getting hair in my water."

She laughed and clambered out of his tub, then used the spell that stripped water out of her fur, the one he had more or less invented, to dry out. He stood up and stepped out, grabbing the towel, but then Lightfoot slammed into him before he could get it around his waist. Her claws dug into his sides, and she rasped her rough tongue across his cheek. "Hello, my little warrior," he laughed, hugging her. "I'm glad you're alright. Did you do your duty?"

"I burned it to the ground," she answered, nuzzling her muzzle against his chest.

"That's my girl," he said, patting her shoulder. "Lucky! Why didn't you go to Haven?" he asked as the calico looked into the bathroom.

"I thought you might need another pair of paws, Shaman," he answered. "I wanted to help."

"Well, we'll make sure that's exactly what you do," he said as he offered his hand. Lucky rushed up and took it, holding Kyven's hand between his furry hands, a silly smile on his face.

"Now, since I'm standing here naked, let me find my robe, then we'll sit down and catch up," he said, but Clover grabbed hold of the amulet around his neck.

"I thought she changed you back. Firetail sent me a message. She said you were human, and that Danna is now a shadow fox Arcan, that she used Danna to change you back."

"She did. I'll explain this later. And everything it represents."

She gave him a look, then nodded. "Brother," she said formally. "I welcome you to the path."

"Sister," he returned, taking her hand.

Chapter 7