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"What's wrong?" asked Vell. But Keirkrad said nothing. "Tell me," he insisted.

"You're afraid," rasped Keirkrad. The old man wore a disgusted frown. He spoke through his gasps for breath. "I have seen your soul. Why do you fear the gift you have been given?"

* * * * *

Gan took a deep breath when he arrived at the ditch surrounding Llorkh. Wider than a road, and too deep to climb out of easily, it had been magically dug by Geildarr a few years back. It forced visitors and caravans arriving at Llorkh to visit checkpoints manned by Lord's Men.

The hobgoblin followed the ditch until he reached a checkpoint, a considerable distance outside Llorkh's fortified walls. A black-armored soldier approached him while his two fellows kept watch from a safe distance.

Gan still carried the battle-axe that he and Dray had found. He had spent a dozen days marching through the Fallen Lands and the Graypeaks, and in that time it had scarcely left his hands. He found that he needed it in his grip even when he slept.

Even Gan, with the sentiments of a hobgoblin, felt a wave of disgust as he approached Llorkh. The ditch looked like a cruel gash in the earth, and all around, nature itself seemed to have surrendered to civilization's needs. Bare of trees and grass, the rocky plains were dull and dead. The surrounding mountains bore the ugly scars of mining and forestry. The city walls stood tall, plain, and bare.

"What business have you in Llorkh?" the Lord's Man, called Clavel, demanded of Gan. Though Clavel modeled his speech and manner on the Zhentilar, a certain authority was lacking in his voice as he faced down the huge hobgoblin.

"I wish an audience with Lord Geildarr," Gan said.

"An audience with the mayor?" Clavel said. "For what reason?"

"I fought in his army against the shades."

Clavel placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Geildarr doesn't want you here, hobgoblin. Go back to your tribe. Whatever's left of it."

Before the Lord's Man could react, Gan swung the huge axe. The brunt of it struck Clavel head on, and though he was not badly wounded, the blow was enough to send him flying backward and rolling down to the bottom of the ditch. Two other Lord's Men jumped forward with their weapons at the ready, but Gan lowered his axe.

"I am not here to fight," he said. "I wish to offer this artifact to Geildarr in atonement for my failure, and that of my tribe." He laid it on the ground before the guards.

Nervous glances passed between the Lord's Men. Then, from the shadows behind the checkpoint, an unlikely figure emerged. Small and trim, she moved with the lithe authority of someone thoroughly in control. Her age was difficult to guess, but she appeared to be recently entered into womanhood. Her honey-brown hair hung in a short crop around her smooth oval face. She was dressed in tight black clothing with a sword at her side. The guards' eyes followed her closely. She strode between the Lord's Men and stood in front of the hobgoblin without fear, leaning over to inspect the fallen axe. Her fingers traced its lines.

"Geildarr accepts," she said, and strolled back to the checkpoint with girlish grace. She cast a look over her shoulder at the hobgoblin. "Bring it," she commanded. Gan leaned over and picked up the axe. The woman took a moment to glance down into the ditch as she passed, where Clavel, his robes smudged with dirt, was struggling to claw his way out, bringing more dirt down onto his face with each desperate grasp. She told the other guards, "Leave him down there till tomorrow morning, then demote him two points of rank."

As Gan walked past the guards, he asked, "Who is she?"

One guard wore a lecher's smile as he watched her walk away, admiring the grace and poise in her every step. The other shrank away from the slight woman in nervousness. But they answered together, "Ardeth."

Gan followed Ardeth past the checkpoint and into Llorkh. He had never been in a city before. Most of his life had been spent in