14th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy

Tadoa stared at his palm, his face disquieted.

The front of the elf's right hand was squished black with the remains of a horsefly he had just flattened against the stone walls of the inn. It had buzzed around the child's head as he exited the building and he had reacted without thought, turning the insect to a gooey paste with one well-placed swat.

Tad continued to stare at his hand. His lower lip began to tremble.

This was wrong.

He had no particular love of flies, but it had done nothing wrong. It was just doing what flies do. Living. Tadoa was no stranger to death and had no objections to it in the natural order of things. This horsefly, though- it had died for no valid reason at all. In fact, the reason it had died would sound absolutely ludicrous if Tad had dared voice it aloud.

The fly had been murdered as a result of a case of mistaken identity.

It was that simple. It could have been Nodyath, so Tadoa had killed it. Plain and simple.

And wrong.

So much seemed to be wrong nowadays, the young elf thought, leaning his head against the cold stone. Although Perlial had experienced no more dreams (or whatever they had been), there was a restless spirit on the wind that even Tad, who was less spiritual than most of his kind, could sense. Sir Dorbin and his party were wonderful people, but Tad was still feeling nervous; edgy, uncomfortable. He often longed for the return of Elrohir and the others, but some deep part of him was telling him that even their return would not quiet his troubled heart.

"Sometimes it helps to talk."

Tadoa spun around. Aiclesis was standing about ten feet away, leaning against the inn on the far side of the doorway. The wind was trying to whip his forest green cloak around, but the rogue had pinned most of it between his body and the wall, so it could only flap on the lower end.

The child eyed him without speaking.

Aiclesis shrugged. "And sometimes it doesn't."

Tad gave his fellow elf a cynical grin. A human grin.

"Why speak Common, Aiclesis?" He asked in elvish. "It's just the two of us here, isn't it?"

The thief's eyes flickered uncomfortably for a moment. "I'm sorry, Tadoa," he replied somewhat haltingly, in Common. "You have a bit of an accent that sometimes I have trouble with. I'm not used to the Rolex dialect, I guess."

Tad frowned. What? He had never heard that before. Was this-

Then it hit him. Shame wrapped itself around his whole body, pushing his face inexorably downwards to stare at the ground.

It's not an accent. I've lived on Aarde too long for that.

This was the first time another elf had told him, even in an oblique fashion, that he, Tadoa, didn't speak elvish very well.

It wasn't surprising, if he could force himself to think about it. His whole life had been rushed, just as if he had been half-human, or even fully human. He just hadn't had the time to learn all the subtleties and nuances. Not only of the elven language, but of their culture and society as well. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he brushed them away angrily. When he looked up again, the expression on Aiclesis' face made it plain that he knew Tadoa had figured out the truth.

"I'm sorry, Tadoa," he said quietly. "I came out here to make you feel better, not worse."

The child took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "It's all right Aiclesis, but I really don't think there's any way you could make me feel better."

Aiclesis' forest green eyes bore into his. "There might be."

The older elf's body language told Tadoa he was serious about something.

"What is it?" asked Tad, his curiosity engaged, at least a little.

"Fee Hal and Sitdale recently returned from Willip."

Tad nodded. Members of the Dorbin party were always heading out to the city on some errand or another. He hardly kept track anymore.

Aiclesis continued. "Lancoastes is ready. Our departure from Oerth is no longer dependant upon magic, or cost. Only one task keeps us here."

"Nodyath." Tad almost whispered the word.

The rogue nodded. "Yes. Personally, I disagree with Dorbin on this one, but we always stick together, so there you go." The older elf spoke almost wistfully, as if he could see his home world in his mind's eye. He then turned back to Tad. "We've talked this over amongst ourselves, and all are in agreement. When this unpleasant business is concluded, and we return to Aarde..." Aiclesis' voice trailed off, his eyes dropping downwards.

Tadoa frowned. He couldn't see where this was leading. "Yes?" he asked.

Aiclesis looked up again. "Would you like to come with us?"

The child was stunned. "Go back with you?" He was truly whispering now.

"Yes," the thief replied softly. "I know little about your life, young Tadoa, only what little tidbits we have gleaned from Elrohir. But even those have told us that you have born more sorrow in your few years than any elf or human should have to."

Tad looked at his fellow elf. He said nothing.

"I come from Ty Lern," Aiclesis continued. "These woods lie within the human Kingdom of Rolos in Gravoland. I know that is halfway around the world from your home- your Aarde home, in the Wildwood of Tristoland. Yet I know many in my tribe who would take you into their homes and hearts with open arms, if that was what you sought."

Tadoa was still silent.

Aiclesis walked over to him, the wind whipping his cloak around now. He gazed directly into Tad's light green eyes. The child returned the stare.

"I... I do not think I wish to leave my friends, Aiclesis. And I know that they would not go. They stay here on Oerth willingly."

"And you?" the rogue asked quietly.

Tad had to look away. A maelstrom of thought and feelings swirled around in his mind, and in his heart. After a few moments, they quieted down and clarity returned. He faced Aiclesis again.

"The Brass Dragon is my home, good Aiclesis, as much as any place on the Three Worlds can be. I will consider your kind offer, but as of now, I think I will stay."

The thief clasped Tad's hands in his and smiled. "The offer remains open until we leave," he said, starting to head back towards the door of the inn.

Tad looked down at his right hand. Something looked wrong about it, and it wasn't the fly-stain. It was... it was...

His gold ring! It was gone!

Tadoa looked up just in time to see the ring sailing through the air at his face. He caught it just in time. Aiclesis was smiling at him.

"Just keeping in practice," he said in the elvish tongue, with a wink.

And he was gone, back inside the inn.

Tadoa smiled, put the ring back on his finger, and headed out into the open.

The elf figured he would check on the two cabins. Only he, and none of the Sir Dorbin party, carried copies of the keys to the two private houses, and Tad felt important about that. He was heading towards the Bigfellow cabin first when he heard a bark and looked around.

It was Mirage. The wardog was sitting about twenty yards away. His tail was wagging, and it seemed plain that he was itching to play with the child. A pang of guilt went through Tad. Since that odd business with Perlial five nights earlier, he'd avoided the animals even more than usual. That restless feeling seemed to be worse around them, for some reason he couldn't articulate.

There was no trace of that feeling now though, as he walked slowly over to the dog, undoing the clasp on his old cloak. Mirage however, picked up something in his mouth. It looked like a piece of leather, possibly part of an old bridle, and tossed it into the air, then looked again at Tadoa in a friendly manner and barked.

Tad redid his clasp and picked up the chewed piece of leather. "Fetch and seek, eh?" he asked the wardog with a smile. "Hope you didn't steal this from anyone in the stables!" he said with a laugh.

Mirage barked again. His paws, restless, danced around on the ground.

"Go get it, boy!" Tad yelled and flung the leather as far as he could. As Mirage dashed after it, the elf sprinted in the opposite direction.

Tad headed towards Aslan's house, the closer of the two to him. He'd hide behind that for a while and see how long it took for Mirage to find him. If he still held the bridle piece in his mouth when he did, Tad would give him an extra treat for his concentration. A quick backwards glance showed him the wardog almost upon the leather, and then he was lost to sight as Tadoa backed along the far wall of Aslan's cabin. The child grinned. This felt good. He hadn't played since-

His foot stepped in something warm. Warm, and slightly sticky.

The child glanced down. A pool of some liquid extended out to just about his position. He turned around. The liquid came from-

Tadoa's eyes grew wide. His mouth fell open slightly, and steam escaped from it in short, hard bursts. There was no warmth to it, however. There was no longer any warmth to anything.

Mirage lay about ten feet in front of him, a dark shape against the sunset's fading light.

The wardog was dead. From the looks of it, he had been stabbed just behind the back of his head by a blade pointing straight down. Blood continued to slowly ooze out from the wound. The ground was still hard from the recent cold snap, and the dark red-turning-brown liquid pooled an inch deep around the body before slowly following a slight depression in the earth towards where Tad was standing. Slowly, trembling, the elf walked over to Mirage, and bent down over him. The dog's brown eyes were open, sightless. His tongue protruded out of his mouth even more than normal.

Something was clamoring for attention in the child's brain. The blood-

Still oozing?

This had happened recently. Maybe five to ten minutes ago, at most.

Tadoa abruptly straightened up and whirled back around.

Mirage was sitting about fifty feet away, perhaps thirty-five feet from the edge of the cabin. The wardog was still sitting, looking directly at Tad. His tail was not wagging anymore, though. The piece of leather lay at the dog's side, but he was paying no attention to it. He was looking only at Tad.

And his look was no longer friendly.

Tad knew he was now no longer in sight of anyone who might be coming in or out of the Brass Dragon.

I wonder how long he waited for this moment?

By sheer force of will, Tad began to force his hand towards the hilt of his sword.

Mirage exploded into action, charging straight at Tadoa. He bared his teeth and a horrible gleam was in his eyes. Tad knew even as his sword started to clear the scabbard for a swing that he knew would not be in time, even as he cursed himself for all the bad decisions he had ever made in his life, even as the creature that he knew was not Mirage leapt for his throat with his fangs glistening, that he should have been looking out for much more than just flies.