Edit April 2010: FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to).

Fewer reviews this time, but nonetheless I'm very grateful. Please read the note at the end of the chapter; it's important. This chapter isn't much compared to some of the others; some of it isn't much more than filler, and it stops just before the battle begins, so it's not as long as I'd like. Sorry, but there's no other way. The real action starts next chapter, I promise.

Personally, Numair would have been perfectly happy to stay at Buzzard Rocks and watch griffins. Sadly, that wasn't an option; he had work to do now. Later that day his tower appeared on the horizon as the road bent away from the coast and looped inland; time for him to leave his student to her own devices for a while. He made her promise not to do anything stupid while he wasn't there, although he wasn't too confident about how long that would last, and promised in return that he would join her and the others at the Swoop soon, before turning his gelding and riding away.

It felt odd to be on his own again, after the past few weeks. Really, that didn't make sense; he'd spent most of the last few years working alone, after all. Still, that was the way he felt now; musing over that, he nudged Spots with his heels, the horse obediently breaking into a canter while the road still held. Closer to the tower, the road dwindled to little more than a track; Numair liked his privacy when he was here. His rooms in the palace were public enough; this was his home, his refuge more often than not.

He tried to remember when he was last here, and couldn't. It had to be at least six months. Numair rode in a slow circle around the base of his tower, staring upwards for any structural damage; the place had been virtually a ruin when he'd first claimed it and he'd been doing running repairs ever since, but it seemed sound enough. Unsaddling Spots, he rubbed the horse down and dug some feed out of his pack; there was a rudimentary stable attached to the tower now, but the grain stored there had long since gone bad. Dragging his packs inside, he headed upstairs.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent sorting through his possessions; he had a lot to do and not much time to do it. By evening, Numair had made notes on everything he'd been teaching Daine since he'd met her and what she'd discovered on her own; he'd also written down everything she'd told him about griffins that morning and copied out his notes on what he'd learned when spying on Lord Sinthya – that seemed a very long time ago now, but it had only been a couple of months at the most.

Sprawling in his favourite chair, he turned his attention to a report Myles of Olau had drawn up for the king on what was known about Stormwing origins, which wasn't much. Recognising a sentence as a quote, he frowned thoughtfully and went into his ever-growing library; somewhere here he knew he had a couple of books that dealt with immortals. As ever, once Numair started researching something seriously, the rest of the world passed him by; once it grew too dark to read, he lit candles and made himself something to eat before burying himself in his books once more, eventually going to bed long after midnight.

Morning found him at the very top of the tower, where he'd built an observation deck; from up here he could see the Swoop to the south and Buzzard Rocks to the north. He spent a few minutes gazing out to sea, letting the breeze wake him up a little, then turned his attention to the Stormwings; with the advantage of height, he might be able to see a few more of them and see if there was any discernible pattern. Were they watching a specific area of the coastline, or the whole stretch? He was hoping it was a specific area, since then it would be much easier to work out why.

They weren't there. Numair frowned and took another look; there wasn't so much as a glimpse of Stormwing magic to be seen anywhere. The hair stirred on the back of his neck; this couldn't be a good sign. He very much doubted that they'd simply got bored. Sighing, he took a brief trip down to the shore and endured the bitter cold of the sea once more, pushing his senses to their limit; the immortals were well and truly gone.

Back at the tower, he hastily packed anything he could think of that might be useful and saddled Spots once more, hauling himself into the saddle wearily; so much for a couple of days of rest and study. He needed to get to the Swoop and inform Thayet and Alanna; as he dug his heels into his horse's flanks, Numair spared a moment to be grateful that he was an advisor and not an officer. It was someone else's job to make the decisions.

He was both tired and sore by the time he arrived, but there wasn't time to worry about that. Luck was with him for once; he almost rode George down just inside the gates. There wasn't time to talk to his old friend, either, which was a shame; he and George had always got along well. Briefly Numair explained why he was here ahead of schedule; the baron cursed softly before nodding and going to find Thayet himself, freeing Numair to go and find Daine; maybe her magic would be more successful.

Pulling Spots to a halt outside one of the stables, he did his usual elegant job of dismounting, all but falling from the saddle as he raised his voice. "Daine? They said you were in here." She raced out, followed by Onua, both of them looking concerned as they took in the state of his horse; he handed the gelding's reins to Onua and turned to Daine without wasting breath on courtesies. "Come with me. We have to find the Stormwings."

She shaded her eyes and stared up at him. "What d'you mean? Aren't they behind their little clouds, being sneaky?"

Numair shook his head. "They're gone. Vanished."

Over the next week Numair got less than three hours' sleep a night. Throughout the day he was researching scrying spells and trying every variation he could think of, with no success, or debating endlessly with Thayet, George and Alanna. In the evenings he was with Daine, continuing her lessons. At night he attempted to find more information on immortals, reading until the small hours of the morning before exhaustion sent him to bed not long before dawn; a few hours later he'd get up and start again. It reminded him of his time at university, in the run-up to his final examinations.

He was in George's study with the Swoop's rulers when the messenger arrived from nearby Fief Mandash. Ogres had attacked the keep; the exhausted messenger wasn't clear on the details, but the lord and his heir had been killed and the rest of the family were trapped. It was actually a fairly routine affair in these strange times; something seemed off to Numair, but he was so tired and frustrated by this point that he couldn't figure out why and eventually chalked it up to his imagination. It wasn't a problem; she would only be gone a few days. Three ogres; the Champion could have dealt with it single-handed – with a squad of twenty men it would be a breeze.

The next two days following the Lioness' departure passed much as the preceding week had, with the exception that Numair was making more of an effort to actually sleep – with limited success, which was why he was back in George's study now, in the company of the baron, the queen and the captain of the guard. He had no experience in military matters and was contributing nothing to the conversation, but it passed the time. Staring pensively out of one of the windows, lost in his own thoughts, he looked around when the opening door was greeted with exclamations and frowned. By now he was past being startled by Daine's late-night appearances in the company of assorted animals, although bats was a new one.

"What's all this?" George asked.

Daine, with Sarge and Kalasin behind her, moved carefully into the room. "Please – don't startle them. They won't hurt anyone."

"It's only bats, Mama," the princess added; Numair tried not to smile. The two eldest royal children had joined forces with Alanna's oldest son and all three had attached themselves firmly to Daine with a single-minded devotion that was hilarious to watch.

"It's important, sir," Daine told George nervously. "I wouldn't have brought them if it wasn't." Her expression was wary; hardly surprising, since Thayet and Captain Josua were staring at her as if she'd grown an extra head. Numair walked closer, picking out about a dozen animals of several different species, wondering what could have brought all of them to Daine.

"May I?" he asked her, pointing to the closest bat – a hoary, as far as he could tell. She gently picked the animal off her shirt and handed it over. Numair held the bat carefully, examining it in silent fascination; he'd been right, it was a hoary bat, a male. Looking up from the animal, he gave George a pointed look.

Taking the hint, the baron looked back at Daine. "What news have your friends brought for me?" he asked; she looked suspicious for a moment, clearly not sure if he was mocking her.

"Have you a map?"

Numair reluctantly tore his attention away from the bat in his hand to watch as she began placing pebbles on the map, explaining distractedly that she'd had an odd dream and woken to find her room full of bats, all afraid and eager to tell her about strange men in the woods. Carefully transferring the hoary bat to his shirt, Numair crossed the room to stand behind Daine and looked over her shoulder worriedly at the pattern beginning to emerge.

"All this since twilight," she finished. "We think it's more'n five hundred, all told."

Silently they stared down at the neat half-circle that cut Pirate's Swoop off from the rest of the country, leaving them isolated and surrounded.

The Swoop was well prepared for night attacks. A few quiet words from George was all it took; with help from Daine to get the livestock moving, the village was rapidly evacuated in good order and everyone brought inside the fortified keep. Numair stayed with his student as she rid herself of the bats and began talking to owls; they were on the Swoop's observation deck now, and he stood beside her, with George staring out into the dark while Daine sat quietly adding up numbers as her friends reported in.

"Lord Baron?" she said after a while, her voice worried. "I have the whole thing."

"So soon?"

"Owls are fast." Standing, she crossed to him; Numair looked over her shoulder as she showed George the total – more than six hundred. "The owls say they aren't moving. They're camped. No fires, but they're settled."

"Waitin' for dawn," George said sourly, nodding over the walls at whatever he'd been staring at earlier. "Waitin' for that."

Numair stared out to sea at the distant fog bank for a moment, then closed his eyes and let his senses drift, dimly aware of his Gift tingling along his skin as he reached towards the fog cautiously. It felt like sliding along a slab of marble, cold, hard and frictionless.

"Numair?" George's voice reached him from a distance. He shook his head and opened his eyes, worried.

"It's opaque. I can't even feel the weather-working spells that are holding it in place, and there have to be spells. Fog is defined by natural law like any atmospheric creation. In the absence of those laws, we have to assume magic, which I should be able to detect. Since I can't detect it, that argues the presence of dampening spells in the fog." With an effort he stopped himself rambling; he was beginning to see the full plan now, and he didn't like it. They were in serious trouble. It was possible, just, that he might be able to handle the dampening spells, but it wouldn't be easy and it wasn't the only problem they faced.

"Dampenin' spells," George echoed. "We're boxed in, then – like rats in a trap. Whatever's in that fog will hit us in the mornin', sure as the Crooked God cheats. Why'd we have no idea this was comin'?"

Numair tried not to flinch. "George, there are more illusion spells and diffusion spells than there are stars," he said helplessly. "Scrying is an inexact magic; I have to know what to look for. All right, I'm good, but even I can be overwhelmed or outflanked. Alanna and Jon would tell you the same thing," he added, trying to keep the defensive note from his voice.

George put a hand on his shoulder; even the baron had to stretch a little to do so. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean you failed at your job. It's just been a long time since I've been sucker punched. I don't like it. They'll crush us, between what's out there and those six hundred at our backs."

"And the army won't come before we're bruised at least," he agreed morosely.

"Aye."

"How many warriors here?"

"Eighty – not countin' the Riders." George took a deep breath and looked at Daine. "What can your friends do to help?"

She swallowed, looking unhappy; Numair watched her silently. "Don't ask me to make them fight," she said softly, almost pleading. "They're not – this isn't about them. I can't ask them to fight and die for humans." Numair knew without her saying so that she was remembering the marsh, when birds had come to help her and been torn apart by Stormwings. "Please say you understand." He did, a little, but she hadn't been talking to him. They could discuss it later, if she wanted to talk about it.

George was silent for a few minutes, his eyes thoughtful; he glanced at Numair, who nodded. Finally he half-smiled and patted her arm. "I don't, entirely, but then I'm all too human. Will you ask them to watch, then? To let us know if more soldiers come, or if the ones out there start to move?" She nodded, thanking him in a whisper.

Drumming his fingers on the walltop, Numair thought furiously. "I might be able to reach Jon," he suggested after a while. "If anyone's close by, he can send in reinforcements. They might be in time."

"Can you reach Alanna?"

"Probably, but I'm not going to." Numair looked at his friend. "She's busy fighting ogres, George. I don't want to distract her. She'll come back to the Swoop as soon as she can; her knowing about this will only worry her, you know that."

After a moment the baron nodded grudgingly, and Numair dug a crystal out of his pocket, eyeing the approaching fog bank. He wouldn't have long, if he was going to get through to Corus. Concentrating, he sent power into the stone. "Jon?" A fire would have been easier, but there wasn't time.

The king's voice sounded distorted. "Numair? It's the middle of the night."

He grinned wryly. "Sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty," he said ironically. "We've run into some problems." Hastily he outlined the situation; they were besieged at the Swoop and had been surrounded overnight, Alanna was a long way off with a fifth of the guard, and dampening spells were approaching fast that would cancel every mage's Gift.

Jon didn't take the news well, but there wasn't time to waste on curses; dawn was streaking the sky. He had time to promise to try and send help, little more than that. As the sun rose above the horizon, the fog rolled in, and Numair abandoned the speaking spell as the dampeners crawled across his skin. Daine had gone to sleep; he envied her that, since he was starting to feel seriously worried now.

I said this was important. Before anyone panics, no, I'm not going on hiatus. I wouldn't be so cruel. No, this time I'm appealing for help – not just my usual begging for reviews (although that's certainly there) but I need some ideas for a title for Wolf-Speaker. I have titles for Emperor Mage and Realms of the Gods, but I honestly can't think of anything for Wolf-Speaker, and there aren't many more chapters of this to go before we move on so I need a title.

So, inspire me. What do you think sums up Numair's character in that book? Let me know in your review. Thank you all.

Loten.