7

Merrick had no trouble getting through the gate, nor did he suspect that he would. It had been a simple matter to insert a subtle suggestion into the guards' minds that he was a simple farmer, coming to visit his relatives there.

In fact, hadn't they seen him before?

It wouldn't do to be recognized.

The weather suited him well; the constant drizzle and frigid air gave him an excuse to pull his hooded cloak tightly over his unkempt hair. Dodging his way among bodies trying to find shelter among numerous buildings, he swept the area for Chloris' mental signature. If she was here, she was lost among the buzz of many other conscious minds.

Somehow Merrick didn't mind the challenge of finding her; sometimes it grew old to take shortcuts. He stopped to think.

Chloris would have found an inn to stay in after many nights on the run. Staying at an inn would give an opportunity to rest and recuperate before she tried to contact Rand.

Merrick began to search the town in a grid-like pattern. He stopped at every inn he came across and explored each innkeeper's mind for anyone with the description of Chloris. Than he would erase himself from each of the men's minds. Tirelessly and with great patience he searched, until he came across an inn, he sensed, was unlike any other.

Chloris' headache began to subside on the afternoon of the third day of staying in bed. It had been explained to her that she had a concussion and that she was to stay in bed until she was deemed well again.

Chloris had resented being ordered around like a child, but she felt too weak to object.

A knock sounded at her door, and the dark elf came in bearing a tray of bread and chicken broth. She accepted it from him, and he sat at the foot of her bed.

She eyed him for some moments. His long, dark hair was bound out of his blood red eyes with a leather band, showing a widow's peak. His face was angular and feline-like; with high cheekbones. Even though his face was unlined, she knew he was probably older than he appeared, especially if he was a pure blood. He sat perfectly strait and unmoving, perfectly balanced. His face betrayed no emotion. It became apparent that he wasn't going to speak, so she absorbed herself in devouring her food. She had not realized how hungry she was.

When she finished, he took her tray and moved toward the door. When he reached the threshold he paused, as if sensing Chloris' questioning gaze. He glanced over his shoulder and said in a neutral voice, "I did not mean for you to be injured, but the conditions were against us."

Chloris searched the line of his shoulders, looking for any tension. She couldn't detect any. "What do you mean?" Chloris asked, trying her best to imitate his calm demeanor, although frustration boiled inside of her.

"I mean," he said, turning to face her full on, "that I did not want harm to come to you; I wanted to talk to you, perhaps ascertain how you became as disheveled as you were."

Why, Chloris thought, but he must have read her expression, because he set the tray down and came back to sit next to her. His disconcerting gaze drilled into her eyes.

"Because," he said, his voice suddenly intense, "I dreamed about you."

Stephen thanked the farmer profusely for his kindness, but he insisted that he had to leave. He knew the older man had been disappointed not to learn his story, or that he had not even been able to meet his wife, who was due home the next day. But Stephen could not have refused the generous gifts of food and a horse to 'take him wherever he willed'. He grinded his teeth in frustration, he knew he should have left to inform Rand days ago. While he lingered Chloris was getting away.

Finally Stephen bid the farmer his last goodbye and set out at a brisk trot up the road, but soon his impatience got the better of him, and he upped the pace to a canter. After the first few hours, he couldn't take it anymore and spurred his horse to a gallop.

The countryside rushed by. Trees blurred into grass.

He continued at this pace for some time, until he noticed that the sun was low on the horizon. He slowed gradually to a walk, becoming sharply aware how sweat-soaked and out of breath his mount was. He felt a pang of guilt at working the animal so hard and thoughtlessly.

He dismounted and took his steed by the reins to walk him out until he was cool, than he stopped and made camp. Before he went to sleep, he was sure to rub the poor gelding down and hobble him where he could get to grass.

The next day Stephen was much more careful. He could not afford losing his horse. He measured the pace and the distance.

Soon the countryside began to become familiar. Hills of farmland were punctuated by short trees. He crested a hill to look down upon a curving line that was the River Loti, and in its bend was the city of Kelerith, Rand's home.

Rand looked up as he heard a knock on his study door.

"Come in," he called in a distracted manner; who entered, though, was enough to send him into reeling shock.

"Gods, Stephen!"

"Aye."

The man before Rand was barely recognizable. His normally cleanshavened face was covered with stubble; his hair, when clean, was normally a white blond, but it was now so dirty it appeared ashy. But most terrifying of all were his eyes. Stephen's eyes, usually filled with barely contained amusement, were haunted, his features tormented.

"What happened to you?"

Stephen laughed bitterly, "We met trouble on the road."

Panic seized Rand, but he contained it, barely. "Wha- Where is Chloris?" He revised his statement, "Where is Chloris and James?"

"James is dead."

Rand fell into his chair. "And…"

Stephen leaned over his leader's desk to rest a hand on his arm. "Chloris was the one that killed him."