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The fight had been short but brutal, the few surviving marauders taking to the woods in different directions. But Chereth and Berun had underestimated the raiders' bloodlust. As the fight turned against them, they'd killed their captives rather than see them freed. Chereth and Berun had only managed to rescue one, a young boy.

"How is he?" Chereth asked.

"Frightened," said Berun. "Looks starving but he won't eat. I barely got him to swallow a mouthful of water. He has the look of a hare before the hawk's talons strike."

"And he fears we are hawks?"

Berun considered a moment. "I don't know that he's thinking even that much."

"Do what you can for him."

Berun heard the farewell in the statement. "Master Chereth?"

The old half-elf looked away. "I must leave you now, my son.

"Wh-what?Why?"

"I found what I sought in the Ganathwood. The final branch of a tree that I have long watched grow. Now that I have it, I must go."

"Go where?"

"To fell the tree."

"Have I failed you in some way, Master?"

Chereth turned back to him. "No, my son. You have surpassed all my hopes for you. Some days I wish you were truly the son of my body as well as my teaching."

"My place is with you, Master."

"Not this time. Not this fight. Tend the slain captives here. Leave the dead raiders for the wolves. Malar must have his offering as well as our Lord Silvanus. Then take care of the boy. Most of all, you must care for this."

Chereth reached inside his shirt and pulled out a necklace braided from thin strips of leather. Fastened on the end was a medallion of sorts, a mass of hardened wood and vine in a twisting pattern that encased three small stones, each just a shade off amber. The bits of wood and vine were dark, obviously ancient and worn, yet they seemed to possess a strange vitality, almost as if they were veins pulsing with life from the three stones within.

"Erael'len,"said Chereth.

"The Three Hearts," said Berun, translating. "But Master, you are its sworn guardian."

"Yes. I swore to keep it safe. Where I now go, I cannot keep that oath. But you can."

"But Master, you've only begun to teach me its secrets."

"And you have done well. You must continue now on your own. Guard Erael'len with your life." Chereth looked away, and when he spoke again, Berun heard an odd note in his voice. "Do what you can for the boy. He has the look of one of the Murghom. Head east and ask among the ataman. See if you can find a family for him. Leave word whenever you stop. I'll find you when I am done, if I can."

Berun looked around. Swarms of flies buzzed around the dead, alighting on eyes open to nothingness and clogging wounds where the blood already seemed more black than red. The boy sat still, hugging his knees, his eyes clenched shut.

"When will that be, Master? When will you be done?"

"I do not know. You must promise me one thing, Berun."

"What?"

"Do not search for me. No matter what you hear." Chereth was staring eastward. "If word does not come directly from me, you must… let me go."

Berun considered this, and he wondered what had held his master's attention in the east. That way lay the Mountains of Copper, the spider-haunted Khopet-Dag, the great Shalhoond, and beyond that-

Sentinelspire. That was it.

"Master," he said. "This has to do with… with Kheil, doesn't it? Kheil and the Old Man of the Mountain."

The tears were gone from Chereth's eyes now, and his gaze was hard. "You must promise me, Berun."

Berun closed his eyes, swallowed, and managed a rasp. "Kheil is dead, you know."

"Even the dead can be raised," said Chereth. "You of all people should know this. Now promise me that you will do as I say. Swear it."

"I swear it, Master."

Chereth extended his staff and turned it. Near the end was a tangled knot of thorns, still green and hale. "Swear it in blood, my son."

Berun grasped the thorns and squeezed until he felt them bite his palm and fingers, then he opened his hand to show the blood pooling there. "I swear I will not come after you," he said. "Save on