Loyalty of the Tiefling

by JHMLYNDALE

The events of Mask of the Betrayer, but with the twist of Neeshka having managed to follow her harbour-boy… who is hers rather than Elanee's. Prologue, 25 chapters, Epilogue.

8. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The journey was, as Okku said, not that long but as they moved from the river and higher into the mountains Blake began to wonder if this had been the right decision. At least though there were caves and Shaundakul blessed their explorations enough they managed to find some that were even empty and could be used for rest rather than Okku scenting bears or other dangerous beasts within. It was only a few days though of steady travel and a few nights of Okku having to tolerate the need of the creatures of flesh for sleep and for campfires that required time to find wood for.

He also had to tolerate the delay one morning of Blake indulging in some target practice to assess the light crossbow they had found on the hunter's body. The holes its bolts of pure sound smashed in a few outcrops of rock when Blake was able to compensate for its vibration showed why Neeshka had commented about the hunters not caring about the state of the corpse. They'd likely been trophy hunters as exploding half a deer would be an instant kill but would also be a waste of good meat if you wanted more than the head.

Finally they reached the short pass that led down into the Vale and Okku glanced at Blake and suddenly grumbled as he saw the mortal's breath misting in the air. "My apologies little one," he said, annoyed with himself, "I considered how you would grow weary with the climb, unlike me, but not that flesh needs to breathe and that the air would become thin and cold on this direct route."

"Better thin and cold than thick and sulphurous," Blake replied, "and has not been too bad."

"Not too bad, no," added Gann, with a theatrical stretch of his back.

Blake shaded his eyes against the sunlight leaking in under the side of the brim of his hat and peered down the path. "I think I can see green, and of a more verdant shade than we have been passing through."

"Immil Vale is notably lush," Gann commented, "which is what makes it worthy of the attentions of the Othlor and why that great Treant said it was favoured by your gods."

"Aye," replied Blake as he started down the zigzagging path, "to see living greenery in such a wintry land is still a pleasant surprise though."

"And there, those boiling bubbling pools…" Gann enquired, with interest, "would those be warm enough for our Tiefling's bathing needs?"

"You'll never know," smiled Neeshka.

A matching smile creased Blake's beard as he continued ahead and more greenery became visible beneath them on the valley floor. "Path leads down, and that tree at the end of it has autumnal leaves, perhaps the Red Tree as its leaves are that colour."

"That would seem the sort of thing that would cause the Witches to choose a name like that," nodded Gann. "Imagination is not the strong suit of Witches."

"Really?" Blake replied, raising one eyebrow. "Was not the impression I got from what you said to your warder back at the Mulsantir prison."

"Ah, let me correct myself," chuckled Gann, "imagination in naming things, no. Imagination in other way, perhaps."

More comment was prevented as a screeching assailed their eardrums and a Wyvern hurled itself from the cliffs above them. Its wings sent dust billowing into the air as it landed with a thud. Blake, being in the lead, had to fling himself back to avoid the snap of the Wyvern's jaws where he had been that moment before. The Wyvern twisted and pulled its wings into its sides as its scorpion like tail whipped out at the off balance Blake. Reflexes took over and though he did not have time to unsling his shield Blake's sword had hissed from his scabbard and he parried.

Enchanted metal met the stinger and split it open, slicing away the barb and freeing blood and venom from the wound. The Wyvern screeched again but this time in pain rather than in an attempt to startle its prey into stillness. Blake staggered a little as the impact kept him off balance but Gann was there and stabbing his spear at the Wyvern's eyes and open mouth. Okku's roar was overlaid with another screech as a second Wyvern plummeted down and landed behind them, but immediately had to almost take off again in springing and flapping away from the claws of a bear-god's swing.

"These seem over-ambitious little one," Okku growled, showing teeth larger than the Wyvern's to it, "if they seek to take us as prey."

"They might have young to feed," commented Neeshka, her rapier darting out and barely missing the eye as it opened a wound on the first and slightly larger Wyvern's cheek. "I saw eggs in the Wyvern nests near the Wizard Academy in Thay."

"Then those young will become orphaned," Okku snarled.

As the Wyvern seemed distracted by the cut on its cheek Blake stepped forward to take advantage and brought his sword down to strike at where the Wyvern's neck and wing met each other and its body. The Wyvern turned slightly which threw off Blake's aim a little, making the blow only a glancing one, and as its blood seeped from the shallow cut the Wyvern whipped its tail in again. Unfortunately for the beast in that reflexive attack it had forgotten how wounded its stinger had been. Even if the barb had been intact it would not have penetrated the relatively thick Mithril of Blake's shoulder guard. As it was the impact did nothing but mash the Wyvern's stinger even more, smearing blood and venom across Blake's pauldron, and staggering him a single step sideways with the impact. Neeshka easily avoided her harbour-boy's clumsy regaining of his balance and stabbed at the Wyvern's other eye which it had exposed to her in turning.

Gann had seen that the narrowness of the path gave him a problem as to where to help. Down the slope Blake needed room to swing that overly large sword of his and the graceful Neeshka needed room to dodge. On the other hand old father bear was broad enough that he almost filled the width of the path upslope so there was not much room for a shaman there either. With some doubts Gann decided that as spirits aided him he would aid them however little a god-of-bears required such. The second Wyvern was hissing and snapping at Okku as Gann thrust his spear out with at it.

The Wyvern almost failed to notice Gann so much of its attention was, naturally, on the huge multi-coloured spirit bear growling back at it. Even so the angle was not good for Gann, having to stab in from the side around Okku, and the Wyvern's hopping and flapping meant he only got it in the wing. Gann's spearhead tore through and great feathers and pieces of feathers fluttered from the wing, but not much blood and not enough feather to hamper the wing much. This did get the Wyvern's attention though and distract it enough for Okku to rake out with one huge paw at its throat. A bloody chunk of Wyvern flesh tore free but though the wound was broad and long it was not very deep and to Okku's frustration his claws did not seem to have ripped through anything vital. The Wyvern did seem staggered a moment by the pain but then its anger overcame that reaction and it returned to the attack.

Neeshka had missed the eye, again, but had opened a wound on the Wyvern's cheek to match the one on the other side. The pain in its head and shoulder and tail seemed to be driving the Wyvern deeper into a frenzy and Neeshka tried to take advantage of this. Her rapier thrusts and twitches became less compact; she flourished her sword in broader arcs to let the light glint off it and try to keep the Wyvern's attention with these broader motions. Blake prowled forward a little, keeping his own movement as slow and controlled as he could until he unwound into a sudden strike. He was nowhere near as fast as Neeshka as, even with enhanced strength, his hand-and-a-half sword took time to get moving but the Wyvern still had to hurry to dodge the blow.

The Wyvern reared up, wings flapping to keep its balance, as Blake's sword licked out at where its head would have been. Blake's thrust failed to strike the Wyvern just behind the jaw and wasted itself on empty air but even as he was pulling his sword back Neeshka moved in. Her strike was more precise and the enchanted metal of her rapier cut deep into the underside of the Wyvern's neck that it had shown her in rearing up. Blood gushed from the wound and the sheer quantity showed she had struck a major vein. As encouraging as that was for Blake and Neeshka it did not seem to have discouraged the Wyvern much. Maybe because it had not realised how badly it was wounded as the wound was so precise and the rapier blade so sharp. Maybe because it had realised but was determined to take them with it. Either way the Wyvern came back down and started snapping at Blake with enough determination to drive him a few steps back up the slope.

Gann meanwhile was still stabbing at the other Wyvern and wondering how long it would be before Okku tore it apart. As the Wyvern hissed at him again Gann saw a chance and thrust forward into the rather unpleasant smelling breath and at the open mouth. The Wyvern's jaws clacked shut and its teeth met on the spear shaft. For a moment Gann was able to push his spear forward before these teeth caught and he found it trapped. There was a tiny amount of give as he tried pushing and pulling but then the Wyvern started shaking its head and Gann became more concerned with keeping hold of his spear and keeping his feet.

Okku rumbled as he saw the Hagspawn again being shaken around by an enemy's greater strength. Memories of how he had dragged Gann around during the battle outside Mulsantir came back to Okku's mind as he padded slightly forward and towards the cliff face. Then he brought a paw down and onto the rear of the Wyvern's head. Its teeth scraped down the spear shaft as it was driven forward and even the part of the impact that scraping transmitted was enough that Gann's boots dug furrows in the soil of the path as he was driven backwards. A slight gleam of metal appeared on the back of the Wyvern's head as the tip of Gann's spear came out of there.

Giving Okku a rather dubious look Gann scrambled away from the edge of the path and tugged at his spear. This seemed firmly wedged though even when Gann, cautiously, placed a foot on the dead Wyvern's nose to brace himself and pull even harder. Okku rumbled again in amusement and turned to watch how the others were doing and if they had finished yet.

The Wyvern downslope was getting slower and weaker as the blood loss began to tell on it and its hissing and snapping were both fading away. Neeshka had managed to inflict a few more cuts that were keeping its attention and as it turned its head to try a feeble snap at her Blake struck. The edge of his sword sliced into the side of the Wyvern's face and split its skull, the backhand blow cutting across the browridge and eye and shattering the cheek and lower jaw. It cut deep enough that Blake's sword caught for a moment as the Wyvern began to tumble off the side of the path. Blake was stubborn though and kept hold of his sword, planting his feet to resist being dragged with the Wyvern and having the good fortune to have an attentive Tiefling who, with a sigh, grabbed his arm and braced him further. As the Wyvern pulled itself off his sword and began rolling in a jumble of wings and legs and tail and neck down the slope Blake smiled to Neeshka in thanks.

"This greenery reminded me of a valley made lush by a Crystal Dragon's heart," Blake commented as he started up the short distance towards where Gann was still pulling at his spear. "No Wyverns, but there were a pair of Black Dragons that objected to us freeing the Crystal Dragon's spirit from its prison of deathlessness."

"That. Would. Be. The. Nolaloth. You. Mentioned?" Gann asked, interspersing each word with another tug at his spear. "Maybe. Tell. Story. Another. Time."

"Aye," Blake nodded, wiping his sword on one of the Wyvern's wings to get rid of most of the gore before wiping it cleaner with a cloth and scabbarding it. Drawing out his dagger he began stabbing at the rear of the Wyvern's head around where he could see the spearhead point. As Blake stabbed and cut and Gann tugged the spear came closer to being freed. Blake paused as he was reminded of times he had aided in butchering animals. "I wonder what Wyvern tastes like."

"Terrible," Okku replied simply, looking pleased he had not needed to bite either one.

"A shame," shrugged Blake, enlarging the hole around Gann's spearhead. "We'd be camping near here so would not be far to carry a haunch to cook tonight."

There was a rather displeasing sucking noise and Gann nearly fell on his arse as his spear came free. There was an expression of distaste on his face though it was not clear if this was over the noise, the undignified staggering, or the idea of eating Wyvern. Blake wiped off his dagger while Gann did the same to his spear and then they continued down the path. Even with Immil Vale probably having a denser population it seemed unlikely there would be any more Wyverns with how large animals needed large hunting territories and tended to defend them against intruders but they kept a careful eye out anyway.

Fairly soon they reached the bottom of the path and Blake was reaching into his packs for the concoction. Suddenly two forms swirled into existence, startling Blake and Neeshka more than Gann and Okku as the latter had an instant's warning from their sensitivity to spirits. For a moment Blake looked at the two ghostly women, his hand still in his pack and Neeshka relaxing her hand away from where it had gone to her sword hilt, before one of the Telthors decided to speak.

"We would have a word with you, cursed one," said the spirit, her choice of address not filling Blake with hope.

"Come forward," the other added, "let us look upon you."

Slowly withdrawing his hand from his pack Blake took a half step towards them, his curse twitching in appeal to be unleashed as it sensed the possible meal. "You would be the Witches Nadaj mentioned," Blake asked, certain of the answer, "the ones that remained as Telthors to continue your work?"

"Quite," one replied. "I am Imsha and this is Tamlith. In life we were Othlor, the pinnacle of our order. But the higher one's rank, the higher their duty." Blake nodded at this. "A day came when we realises ours exceeded our own lifetimes. But our prayers were heard and the gods permitted us to stay as Telthors."

"A blessing to be sure, to die with obligations undischarged is to be avoided," Blake agreed. "I do have questions for you, but first… what was it you required that you appeared and addressed me?"

"To put a face to a feeling," said Tamlith. "Your hunger is like a vortex amidst the flow of spiritual energy. We feel its pull from a vast distance, but the threat of that hunger cannot be known without seeing what countenance it wears."

"I thank you for reserving judgement until you saw that," Blake replied politely before asking, "does this mean you have encountered other spirit-eaters?"

"Only a handful, yet far too many," sighed Tamlith, her tone conveying that even one was too many. "Always drawn to Rashemen, it seems, like any beast that catches the scent of fresh prey. Inevitably they follow it to Ashenwood where the aroma is strongest. Makes them likely to pass this way, either coming or going."

"I was directed to the Ashenwood for advice, and found the forest in turmoil and the Wood Man unable to manifest," Blake responded. "If you can share what you know of the past hosts it would be appreciated. Your… living… colleagues have been mostly unhelpful."

"Is that truly a surprise?" asked Imsha.

"Only in as much as the more I know of this curse the better I can control it, and the more likely it is that Okku's oath to end it can be fulfilled."

"Well, many of the spirit-eaters meet their fates in the Ashenwood," supplied Imsha, some caution in her tone as control of the curse did not necessarily mean control to use it wisely. "It is a wild place, and it has a sense of self-preservation all of its own. But they have done damage there, wounded the forest like no one else can. They have brought sickness and upset its natural balance."

"Don't forget the one with the guide," Tamlith added. "You remember Imsha, he'd hired that tracker to take him into the heart of the forest so he could live off the soul of the Wood Man himself."

"I think I may have met that tracker," mused Blake.

"That seems unlikely," Imsha contradicted him. "The Wood Man considered it a betrayal for the tracker to lead a spirit-eater to him…anyone who wanders the forest freely does so only with the Wood Man's trust. Couldn't tell you for sure what became of him, but the rumour was that he'd been imprisoned indefinitely on another plane, and not one of the nice ones."

"A Plane of Fire actually. We encountered a being of flames, he was burning trees and said this was in revenge against the Wood Man for having sent him into undying fire to suffer undying pain."

"I take it he no longer burns?" Tamlith asked.

"No, he does," admitted Blake. "The only sure way we had to fight him was for me to unleash this curse and devour him."

"Ah, well I hope that you find another solution, or choose to accept the unwelcome solution, before too much more of the forest is lost."

"Indeed," replied Blake, "his flames seemed contained by the sacrifice of trees that had burnt out as a barrier, but I will do what I need to whether he is still contained by that or not."

"Do you have other questions?" Imsha asked.

"Yes," nodded Blake. "You mentioned spirit-eaters have brought sickness to the Ashenwood. One such sickness has recurred, a huge Treant lies sick with a relapse and the forest around him blighted. The Treant advised me to travel to your Red Tree here to beseech Chauntea to aid with this blight."

"It must be some blight to travel all this way," Imsha marvelled, "but he has steered you correctly. Our tree is strongly attuned to the spiritual and the divine. It is a conduit of sorts, words spoke at its base may reach ears across the planes, that is if you have their attention."

"Then I shall have to hope I do."

"Have you an anointment?" asked Imsha.

"Yes, I have gathered and mixed the ingredients as instructed, and that was what I was reaching for when you appeared."

"Then simply anoint yourself and touch the trunk of the Red Tree and beg the favour," instructed Imsha.

"Know that the gods listen only to those that are respectful and whose plight they deem worthy of their attention," Tamlith added. "They have no time for trifling matters or rude petitioners."

"Indeed," frowned Blake at the unnecessary warning. "Well, this matter does seem serious and I shall be polite. I'd not wish to offend Chauntea even were I not already suffering a divinely inflicted curse."

Blake took his hat off, frowning as he noticed the stain of Wyvern fluid on it, and handed it to Neeshka. He then took off his gauntlets and, after also handing those over, reached back into his pack. The contents of the bottle had become even more unappealing for the time in his pack and even with what was at stake Blake hesitated before pouring some into his cupped hand and then smearing that across his forehead. After another moment he poured and smeared a second dose and then poured a third lot into his hand so it was damp with it.

Reaching out to the trunk of the Red Tree Blake found words coming into his mind but whether that was inspiration or divine inspiration he was not sure. "Chauntea, Great Mother of the land, divine warden of all that grows," Blake recited, "know that the Ashenwood is stricken with a powerful blight. Grant me your blessing, I plead, that I might reverse the damage it has wrought."

Warmth flooded Blake and he felt the sensation of his boots on the ground fade as if he was floating or weightless. Was this what it was to be a ghost or a spirit with no physical form? The hunger receded away and the pressure of it on his mind dwindled as for a moment something had mercy and granted him that moment of succour. The timeless instant ended though and the world returned and with it the weight of both his body and his curse pressed back onto Blake. He was still standing with one hand pressed against a great tree with red leaves and being watched with concern by Neeshka.

Blake smiled at Neeshka, almost as overwhelmed by how much he loved her as he had been by communing with Chauntea. He had forgotten how much this curse hurt until the pain was removed for that moment, but with Neeshka's love and support he knew he would defeat this even if he had to tear out a God's throat with his teeth. Nothing was going to stop him as if he failed and died from this then Neeshka would grieve and he was not going to let anything make her that unhappy.

"Blake?" asked Neeshka, worried by the expression on her harbour-boy's face. He had frozen a moment and for that moment had looked almost as blissful as he did when she was in his arms and their sweat was still drying on their naked bodies. Now though he was looking at her with a rather overconfident smile.

"I felt relief from this curse for a moment," Blake replied simply, before glancing down at what was in the hand by his side, "and it seems this prayer was answered."

"That does look a lot nicer," Neeshka commented.

"Aye," agreed Blake, "and though I might have anticipated Chauntea transmuting the anointment into the cure I'd not expected her to alter the bottle as well."

"You are to be praised though, to be so blessed by Chauntea," Tamlith agreed. "May the blight soon be ended."

Blake nodded and put the rather beautiful crystal bottle carefully away. Imsha caught his eye. "You said questions, is there more you wish to ask?"

"There is trouble at your garrison on the Lake of Tears," replied Blake, "the forest is attacking it and they do not know why. An Ethran called Nadaj suggested you might have some insight."

"Hmm, if that is true," Imsha mused, "then it would not be the Wood Man's doing. He and the Hathrans have an accord."

"The creatures were blighted so it could be that the mercy of Chauntea in giving this cure will solve the problem," nodded Blake, "if the attacks were feverish flailing rather than something more deliberate."

"You do not sound convinced," Tamlith commented.

"No," admitted Blake, "Nadaj did think there was purpose behind them, that there was the intent to drive them out. So if there is intent there must be a mind, and if not the Wood Man then who?"

"How to put this simply?" Imsha mused. "The Wood Man is an embodiment of the spirit of Ashenwood but he is not all there is to it. Those woods are primal. They have instincts. If the Wood Man is absent then who knows what other aspect might rise up to fill the void?"

"That makes sense," replied Blake, "and if so then Nadaj was right in thinking we were not at cross-purposes. If I can help the Wood Man return then I will be able to speak with him and he will be able to control those other aspects and the garrison will be secure again."

"Was there anything else?" Tamlith asked.

"What is that gigantic rock over there?" enquired Gann. "It is hard to sense over our leader's… presence… but I can feel the pull of it on my waking dreams."

"The Mosstone it's called," Imsha replied dismissively. Gann smiled slightly at this proof of the lack of imagination of witches in naming things. He should have known, it was a stone with moss on it so what else would they call it. "Nothing special about the rock itself, but it is said that those who sleep in its shade experience fanciful dreams. Prophetic some claim. Very few take interest in it, save the odd pilgrim or tourist who comes this way. But some swear by it and return often."

"I do not blame them. It is a shame, honoured spirits, that you no longer sleep or you would have been able to feel the truth of those tales," said Gann politely before turning to Blake. "I suggest that before we leave we rest in the shadow of that rock. My own powers of dreamwalking are not inconsiderable and with them to focus the effects of that rock we may gain fresh insight."

"Hrmm," Blake murmured, half-turning so he could see Gann as well as the Telthors.

"You seem dubious," frowned Gann.

"Your actions and advice have earned a great measure of trust," Blake reassured him, waving one hand and realising it was still bare. "I do though still remember the words of the Witch-Warden and your reply to her. You seemed proud of the fact you left footprints in others minds and that those would never vanish."

"I may have… overstated… the case in my arguing with her," admitted Gann. "All experiences leave their mark on those that experience them and my entering a dream or shaping it is no different. I admit to having used my abilities to amuse myself, but never with malice."

"We shall see what dreams come then," Blake nodded, "but first we need to decide what to do about that burning tracker, which was another reason for coming here."

"Ah, we might have some thoughts on that," Tamlith volunteered as Blake turned to fully face her again. "Each year a Bheur, an icy hag, comes and brings winter to this land and each year she is driven away. This year though the snow and ice have lingered past when they should have melted, so we wonder if this is because the hag has also lingered. A creature of winter ice might have insight into how to counter one of eternal fire."

"If I find this hag what do you wish done to her?" asked Blake, taking his gauntlets back from Neeshka and putting them on. "If she is lingering then she may not be willing to be simply driven off as before."

"This valley is an oasis of warmth and life in these bleak mountains," Imsha said firmly, "we will not permit it to become frozen to accommodate one hag. If she will not leave then we ask that she die."

"Very well," replied Blake, looking at his hat and after rubbing at the stain putting it away rather than on. "The advice you have given me may well have helped save my life and I repay my debts, return aid for aid and courtesy for courtesy."

As Blake fumbled with the carrying straps of his shield, not wishing to be caught without it again, Neeshka muttered something under her breath. Tamlith and Imsha glanced at each other before Tamlith spoke. "What was that child?"

Neeshka looked Tamlith in the eye, unintimidated by the tone. "I said it was fortunate for some of you Witches that he doesn't do the reverse."

"Their… stupidity… was annoying," Blake admitted, buckling on his shield. "But it would have been wrong to repay their more helpful colleagues by returning the hostility of the less helpful. The insults to me seem to weigh heavier on Neeshka's shoulders than on mine."

"Hah!" Neeshka exclaimed. "What did you do to those thugs in Neverwinter that called me goat-girl?"

"I slaughtered them without mercy," frowned Blake. "What's your point darling?"

"I think you just made it," Neeshka smiled.

Blake looked at his sweetheart with a baffled expression. Insults to Neeshka were important so of course he had responded to them. The connection between this and her not wanting to tolerate insults to him eluded Blake but after a moment more he gave up thinking about it. "Anyway, we should investigate for this Bheur. It was a pleasure speaking to you Madame, and you Madame," he nodded to Tamlith and then Imsha, "and a pleasant surprise you have been so helpful despite, being spirits yourselves, being so directly threatened by my curse."

"We are less threatened than you may think," Imsha replied, "after all we are still here despite you not being the first spirit-eater we have encountered, but I thank you for the kind words."

Bidding the Othlors farewell it was only a short distance across the valley floor before they began to see signs of the Bheur, a still melting puddle there, a leaf or some grass killed by cold here. The Bheur did seem to have tried to not travel in a completely straight line but, though there were a few places where it was useful to have a god-of-bears rumble and pad onwards on the scent, the trail seemed clear. In some ways it seemed too clear and Blake hesitated as they came within sight of a mine and saw the iron rails and mine carts and stream outside it all covered in ice.

"They said the ice and snow had lingered," Blake commented, "but I thought it would be over a wide enough area the hag would be hard to locate."

"Trap?" asked Neeshka. "Or just lazy searchers?"

"Could be either," Blake mused, "let us enter this mine, but with great caution. Something peculiar seems to be going on. It seems strange that after finding the hag each year to drive her away that this year they are missing such obvious clues. Unless those clues were not missed. Perhaps they found the hag has become more powerful so this year they couldn't drive her off."

"Like I said harbour-boy," Neeshka smiled, "lazy searchers or maybe a trap."

"They seemed friendly," protested Gann mildly, "and if nothing else they'd not want to prevent us dealing with the fiery tracker or returning the cure to the blight."

"Hrmm," Okku grumbled, "compared with a spirit-eater those problems might be considered minor if you have not seen their effects. I do agree with the Hagspawn though that the Othlor appeared sincere."

Blake nodded. "Sometimes the Red Knight lets you see hidden plans. Sometimes things are as simple as they appear and those plans are only in your own mind. We should still be cautious though."

Okku rumbled at that repeated suggestion as caution was not something that came naturally to a bear and especially not a bear-god but Neeshka looked happy. Her experience had been that the sweeter the smile the sharper the blade so she was glad Blake was not going to go blundering in trustingly. Having drawn his sword and drawn up his chainmail hood, donned his helmet, and made a few spells in preparation to join those requests to the spirits Gann was making Blake very carefully made his way across the ice and into the mine entrance. Whether the chills down his spine were warnings from his instincts or simple cold he was not sure. This just seemed something that, like the troubles in the Ashenwood, the Witches should have dealt with.

"Even in my form I can feel this cold, little one," rumbled Okku as they moved further inside, "though not see my breath since I no longer breathe."

"I hope this does not get too much colder," Blake replied, flexing his fingers to keep the blood flowing through them.

"I hope it does," disagreed Gann.

"What?" Neeshka protested, pausing a moment to glare at him. "Do you want the tip of my tail to freeze or something?"

"I would not wish such a fate," Gann said smoothly, deciding not to add a compliment, "but the colder it gets the more powerful this Bheur must be, and so the more likely we would gain something of use against that burning tracker and his flames."

Neeshka did not look entirely mollified but before she could speak Blake asked, "So what can we know about this hag?"

"There are many of my kind, my mother's kind," supplied Gann. "They are as numerous in hue and power as the elements and their disposition as varied as the emotions and rages of a human mind. The one within… I suspect her spirit lies upon the cold edge of ice and a heart of winter beats within her chest. That is a dangerous thing indeed and so anything that shields us against a winter's chill would help us in the battle to come, if we choose to fight."

"It is not so much if we choose to fight," Blake corrected, "as if she chooses to fight rather than depart. I have no personal quarrel with her."

"We may be able to persuade her," nodded Gann. "As you may have noticed from my own… tendencies… we hags, even half-hags, are a talkative people. It is a form of self-flattery to go on about oneself, no matter what the subject. If we can steer her prattle and flatter her sufficiently then she may be amenable."

"I think you more suited to flattery than me," Blake admitted, "I try to be polite but tend to express my honest opinion rather than sweeten it."

"So I have noticed," replied Gann, "though I also notice your honesty means you tend to not sour it either."

"So be it, you take the lead in any conversation this hag is willing to offer," Blake decided.

As they came around the corner and approached the room at the end of that mine tunnel the cold seemed to reach its worst rather than increase any further. The swirling forms of Orglash passed back and forth through the part of the room they could see through the doorway. Gann glanced at the others and then with some reluctance on his face clipped the strap back to his spear and slung it across his back. Placing a practised smile on his face and opening his hands in a gesture of friendly greeting Gann entered the room. The hag whirled from the bench of alchemy equipment she had been working with.

"Visitors? But you didn't send a messenger to let me know," the Bheur complained, peering about. "This place is a sty! Human remains everywhere. If only I'd had a bit of notice. And look at this thing I'm wearing. Hideous! It's impolite, you know, dropping in on an old woman unannounced. How can I possibly be expected to look halfway decent?"

"Give her a centuries warning," Neeshka muttered to Blake, "and she'd not manage that. Or even manage an eighth-way."

Blake nodded to Neeshka and tried to keep his face impassive as Gann replied. "Honoured Bheur, I bring news that the Witches by the Red Tree out there are looking for you and seek to force you to leave."

"Which is why I am hiding", grumbled the Bheur, making it clear this was not news to her. "Those two loathsome banshees are too well connected. If they find me here every Hathran between here and Thay will be on my doorstep. Probably unannounced like someone else I know."

"Our apologies for the intrusion," Gann said, bowing slightly as he did, "but is there some reason why this year you have remained?"

"Well, it isn't for this ghastly landscape, I'll say that much," the Bheur snapped, looking pleased to have someone to rant to. "I don't understand how anyone can stand such a detestable climate for more than a few seconds without fleeing for a nice snowy peak or glacier somewhere."

"Those would seem far more pleasant for you," sympathised Gann, "your reason for tolerating the climate this year must be very important for it to be worth your time and discomfort."

"Every year the Hathrans drive me out of their lands," the Bheur frowned. "Even celebrate it, the monsters. This time I got it in my head to stick around a little longer, show them what they get for picking on an innocent old woman."

"A… fitting lesson for them to learn," Gann replied, his skills at diplomacy being tested, "though with the clues to your presence they could soon repeat that unfairness."

"Kick an elderly woman while she's down, why don't you?" the Bheur snapped, the anger of past years soaking her voice. "Your mother would be so ashamed to see you carrying on this way."

"Do not speak of my mother," Gann snarled back, taking the hag almost as much by surprise as he did Blake and Neeshka and Okku. "She abandoned me to the Wilds of Rashemen so her opinion means nothing to me."

"Huh, you were lucky," the Bheur replied, "In my day we used to eat our young for such insolence rather than simply leave them alive."

"Lucky?" Gann hissed incredulously, one hand going to unsling his spear.

"Wait," interrupted Blake quickly, stepping forward. "I am sure no offence was intended on either part. My friend merely meant that if they seek to find you then they might succeed in this."

"Hmph, is that so?" sniffed the Bheur, still peevish. "Bah, you're right though. Its more heat than I can bear, and it's still too little to cover my tracks. Froze the ground before I could duck into this place."

"It does seem you have a problem," Blake replied, "though perhaps we can aid one another. We seek information on how to defeat a being of fire…"

"So that's it then, is it? Of course it is," interrupted the Bheur, going into another rant. "You've come here because you want something from me. Couldn't possibly come calling because you just wanted to visit with me. Oh no, 'I don't care why you're here, or how lonely you are, or how long it's been since you've eaten someone. I just want to use you.' Typical."

Blake glanced at the Orglashes closing in slightly in response to their bond with their icy mistress and sighed. "Should I take that as a no?"

"Oh, so like your generation," grumbled the Bheur as Blake ignored the hint to sympathise with her. "No patience with your elders. Always rattling your swords with a Wyrm's sense of entitlement. I will not tolerate such disrespect…"

Without warning Blake stabbed his sword forward and into the Bheur's gut. As he had done previously with the armoured undead Blake brought his shield-arm hand onto his sword's hilt, heaved upwards, and lifted the hag on the edge of his blade. The difference was that, even without armour, she weighed a little more and in contrast to the unbleeding silence of the Undead a bubbling cry and blood came from her mouth. Blake twisted his sword and tilted it to dump the Bheur off it and onto the table. There was nothing pretty or heroic about this, just killing an old woman-creature before she could use her powerful magic.

The Orglashes swirled and their cold spewed across Blake and the others, cutting deep into the protective magics but not deep enough. Blake released his shield-arm hand's grip and swung his sword one-handed down and to the side. The blade did not meet much resistance as it passed through the Orglash's form, the hag blood that still coated it freezing in that instant, but this blow did seem to hurt the Orglash as its swirling became much slower and fainter. Then the frozen blood of the hag melted and burned away as Blake muttered an invocation of Blades of Fire to make his sword burning hot.

Gann had taken the moment to step back and unsling his spear. As the Bheur began sliding off the table onto the floor he stabbed a quick flicking blow into her throat. "So much for gaining information," he commented.

"Just fight, Hagspawn," Okku growled, whirling on an unfortunate Orglash and pouncing.

Massive jaws snapped through the Orglash's form and then Okku's great paws were wafting through it like a man waving away smoke from his attempt at cooking. Like that smoke the Orglash came apart and dissipated into invisible nothingness. Neeshka was not as strong and her rapier did not tear such broad swathes through the Orglash that had drawn her attentions but as she flurried her blows through it tiny pieces were floating away like embers from fire and it noticeably shrank.

Blake muttered another invocation and a ball of fire formed and then split as the Firebrand sought out their foes. One ball curved down and struck almost at Blake's feet as the magic sensed that despite her wounds the hag was still holding onto life. The scent of burning flesh joined the equally unpleasant one of ruptured bowels. Other fireballs plunged into the Orglashes who for a moment looked more like Fire Elementals as flames smeared away from the balls and blended with their swirling forms. The two Orglashes Blake and Neeshka had wounded vanished as the flames faded, their animating spirits unable to keep them intact under this extra assault.

Gann stabbed his spear in again and rather than withdraw it left it plunged into the Orglash and let its own swirling draw the spearhead through it. Blake swung his sword in and against the same foe, magical heat and cold warring, and this Orglash also dissipated. Okku continued to disdain subtlety as he pounced on and tore another apart into inanimate shreds that faded away. Deprived of a different target by this Neeshka plunged her rapier down and through one eye into the Bheur's brain. The hag had survived being stabbed in the guts and throat so Neeshka was not taking the chance that she had also survived the Firebrand.

Blake smiled in thanks to Neeshka as she withdrew her sword and stepped back from the corpse. Then he looked at his sword and tentatively brought his cleaning cloth to it. The magic already on the blade did not react when he cleaned it but he was not sure if this rarely used spell was as well behaved in that regard as the Druid prayer of Flame Weapon Elanee used to cast. To Blake's relief his cloth, and his hand, did not catch fire as he wiped off his sword so he could scabbard it and his scabbard also did not start to smoulder and burn.

Neeshka was efficiently examining the chests and containers along the walls so Blake turned his attention to the lab bench. Ignoring the smeared puddle of hag fluid on the tabletop and the burned and mutilated body beside it Blake sorted through what the late Bheur had been working on. He was not an expert Alchemist but he knew enough to recognise that this had been some sort of distillation.

"Ah," Blake nodded, feeling better about the corpse at his feet, "she was experimenting on her own Orglash servants. Looks like she induced or forced them to condense down into their compact form and then…" Blake gestured at the mortar-and-pestle and the dust still within it.

"She ground talking creatures into powder?" Gann asked. "That is just bizarre."

Blake nodded again and picked up the mortar-and-pestle. Then he sprinkled a little of the dust from it onto the pool of blood and fluids around the hag. Where the dust and the liquid met ice formed instantly and Blake nodded again as he placed the mortar-and-pestle back on the bench and examined a jar that seemed full of the same dust. "Bizarre, but very cold," he commented, picking up the jar, "and if anything can be considered as a poison against fire this might."

"At least her work was not entirely wasted then," Gann said, somewhat disapproving of Blake taking that.

"True," Blake agreed calmly, "and they would be no less dead if we left their remains here rather than use them to help save the Ashenwood."

Gann inclined his head to concede the point and since Neeshka had finished her search they left the mine. Outside the warmth of Immil Vale, freed of the hags influence, had already noticeably eroded the ice and returned the scene towards spring. Whether this was any more natural for a valley in these mountains than the cold the Bheur had brought was something Blake was not sure. The volcanic pools seemed to suggest the warmth was not entirely magical though and he did prefer it to the cold inside the mine or that they had travelled through to reach here.

While Blake pondered this and removed his helmet Gann hopped nimbly across the stepping-stones in the now unfrozen stream. Blake lowered his chainmail hood and scratched his neck, having to be gentle as the jointed metal protecting the back of his fingers gave him, in effect, sharp fingernails where it overhung. He was very careful as he followed as though the stones were less slippery without ice that also meant falling would be a lot wetter. Gann paused and looked back as Blake made his laborious way, as Neeshka walked the stones with the ease other people had for walking broad flat floors, and Okku just waded the stream and looked grumpy at the lack of salmon.

"I suggest we head more that way," Gann pointed.

"The Mosstone?" asked Blake.

"Indeed. I felt its pull increase as we travelled nearer it on our way here but, as I said to the Othlor, your curse muddies my sense of the spirits. It seems worth a small diversion to ensure it would be worth returning to it."

"Aye," nodded Blake.

Gann hesitated to see if Blake was going to say anything more, any comment on the distance or on the idea of dreamwalking, but Blake just waited. Smiling to himself at the contrast with his own loquacious nature Gann started down the short slope from the mine entrance to the valley floor and towards the Mosstone. There were noises from around them as they travelled but each time Okku rumbled in his chest those noises retreated as if something had thought better of stalking them. Soon they were at the Mosstone and Gann was gazing up at it and at the weathered runes that had been carved into it.

"Ah, look at this," breathed Gann, examining how the runes flowed and drawing insight from his link to the spirits and to dreams. "Perhaps a marker, perhaps a fragment of dream left behind, this stone is a signpost."

"A signpost to what?" Blake called from where he was standing a short distance away.

Gann chuckled. "Your presence does not muddy my senses that much, and that distance diminishes the effect hardly at all, but I thank you."

"Hrm," Blake replied, walking closer, "a signpost to what?"

"Why, truth of course. A greater understanding of oneself," said Gann. "Beneath its shadow we may find that our dreams are sharpened like a blade and ring more true than steel. In such places as these dreams are strong. As long as one rides the current and does not fight it we may find ourselves at our intended destination."

"That seems rather random," Blake complained.

"Life can be such," smiled Gann. "I know your skill in the arcane comes from systematic study but intuition has its place. If everything was logical then would you be here now with us?"

"Maybe not," Blake admitted, not noticing how the sparkle in Neeshka's eyes had dimmed a little at Gann's comment and his agreeing with it.

Neeshka knew how much Blake loved her and she knew her fears were, at least in part, the legacy of the years of being taunted as 'Demon girl' and all the lectures over her Infernal blood the priests that raised her had given. She also knew that logically Blake's best choice for marriage would be some nobleman's daughter. Someone that could make his children born to the nobility rather than part Tiefling. Someone that could give him influential relatives by marriage rather than relatives that were either Infernal or who had abandoned their daughter to the care of priests. Someone that could give him entrance to polite society rather than being a reason to disbar him this.

Of course, Neeshka decided as one corner of her mouth quirked into a smile, there was a problem with that logic as they had embarrassed a large number of the Noble families of Neverwinter by discovering their children engaged in necromancy. Despite his present wealth and power and fame it would have been difficult for Blake to find a Noble wife with his peasant birth. There might have been a Noble family desperate enough to ignore this in favour of trying to rebuild their family's vanished fortunes but finding one that was not related to the embarrassed families and who would be willing to risk making an enemy of those families would make this even harder.

"So, what does your intuition say?" Blake asked, his moment of thought having been rather calmer than Neeshka's worrying.

"Swimming in one's own dreams often reveals many secrets and your curse has many secrets to reveal," replied Gann. "We have learned much as we travel the physical world so perhaps the dreaming world may also bring insight. If we rest close to the stone then the dreams will come, and in force. Of course this may all be old wives' tales…but I think old wives were young truthful women once so perhaps this would be a place to camp for a time and see what lies behind our eyes, no?"

Blake glanced at the sky and around at the valley that was darkening as the sun set behind the mountains. "We seem to have time to report our meeting the hag first, then we can return to set up camp and confirm that your instincts and the tales are true."

Gann nodded and Blake began walking. The valley floor filled with shadow even as the sun still brightened the upper slopes and Blake wondered if he had overestimated how long they had. There was the slight glow from Okku though and that was enough to show them their footing without ruining their night vision like a torch or spell of Light would have done. As they came within sight of the Red Tree again Blake was relieved to see a pair of faint glows and that the Othlors had remained manifest rather than releasing their forms to return to wherever Telthors went.

"Do you linger here with a purpose?" asked Tamlith as she caught sight of Blake.

"You asked me to investigate if there was sign of the Bheur," Blake replied, pointing out his purpose was one they had given him. "There was."

"Indeed," replied Imsha. "What of her?"

"Okku's keen nose followed her trail to where we could see the entrance to the mine on the other side of the valley," Blake replied, giving credit to Okku, and ignoring the bear-god's mild rumble of protest that the trail had been so obvious. "This was surrounded by snow and ice and, as expected, we found the Bheur within. We spoke with her but she felt I was not sufficiently respectful. So we fought and she died."

"See, I told you, Imsha," nodded Tamlith slightly triumphantly. "They should have checked the Vremyonni mines."

"You made your point Tamlith," replied Imsha, a little peevish. "As for you spirit eater, it is good to know that you are not entirely above serving causes besides your hunger. In thanks, and in hopes that you continue that path, we offer this cloak."

"Thank you Madame," Blake politely replied as he accepted the cloak, keeping some feelings from his face. With a slightly strained smile of thanks he led the others away to speak in privacy and let Tamlith decide without an audience whether to continue saying 'I told you so' to Imsha. Being near-immortal spirits bound to the same tree probably gave many opportunities to get on each other's now immaterial nerves so Blake did not envy them. "Huh. I seem to have been damned with faint praise," Blake commented, "being 'not entirely above' and been given a bribe rather than being trusted to continue to do the right thing."

"The Witches starting to get to you harbour-boy?" asked Neeshka sympathetically.

"Yes," Blake replied flatly before adding. "But don't worry dear; I'm a long way from losing the ability to be diplomatic… however little they deserve my good manners or you not stabbing them."

"If they had to bribe you at least it's a nice cloak," said Neeshka, keeping her sense of practicality.

"There is that," Blake admitted, holding the cloak up to examine it. His sweetheart was right, this was a fine cloak and though the magic on it was not as useful to Blake as it might have been to some it was still a nice looking cloak.

Nice enough though that as the magic wasn't that useful and the unenchanted cloak he had bought from Shelvedar was just as effective at keeping off the rain and keeping out the cold there seemed no need to get it dirty. Not unless the weather turned nasty and one of them needed the extra warmth. Having stowed the cloak away it was only a short journey back to the Mosstone. It loomed above them, blotting out a portion of the now visible stars but almost seeming transparent as the moonlight picked out highlights on the rock and gave the illusion of those being stars being seen through it. This was an impressive enough sight that Blake found himself with some qualms.

"Here we are again," Gann said cheerfully, pleased of the opportunity to use his full skills rather than just stab things with a spear. "Let us relax and rest and see if dreams will take us."

"Break out the bedrolls," nodded Blake reluctantly, before adding in the tone of someone trying to find a bright side, "at least we don't have to set watches."

"An advantage, little one," Okku rumbled, "of you having an undying unsleeping bear-god at your side."

They needed no campfire as the valley was warm enough. To Blake's annoyance it was also warm enough that he and Neeshka did not need to share body warmth and this let Gann smilingly request that they did not as he did not want the dream shaped by this into something he would prefer not to witness. Having removed the outer layers of his armour Blake settled himself down under his sleeping furs and as he lay there found sleep was not coming easily. Maybe it was the lack of having Neeshka snuggled in his arms, which was comforting even when they were both still wearing some chainmail. Maybe it was that he was still wearing some chainmail and was not tired enough to ignore this. Maybe it was the doubts he felt over sharing a dream with Gann. Blake sighed and firmly closed his eyes and tried counting breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out, and slowly Blake relaxed and sleep came to him.

Blake's eyes snapped open as he realised he was standing and could feel the weight of his full armour on him rather than just a chain shirt, the weight of his shield on his arm and his helmet on his head. Around him snow glittered with an unmarred whiteness that looked as if even the concept of it having been walked upon was impossible. This scene, this dreamscape, was even quieter than the Ashenwood had been. It was as if there were no living creatures, nothing to crawl or walk or fly or slither and intrude on the solitude of these eternal-seeming trees.

"We are in Ashenwood," Gann said, making Blake jump as the near perfect silence was broken, "a version of the woods that once were. Something is wrong here, be on your guard. It does look an interesting dream to explore, but we should be careful."

"I wonder if that Bheur mentioning snowy peaks and glaciers affected the setting," mused Blake, his voice hushed as it sounded strange in his ears in this stillness, "if that meant images of those were in our minds."

"I doubt it," Gann replied, his voice a more normal tone as he was more experienced with dreams and less affected by the strangeness. "This seems to come from deeper than surface thoughts or recent events."

"All right, let's move on," said Blake, making an effort to speak naturally. Then he gestured at himself and his full armour, "but, something in my mind seems to have decided I need to be ready for battle."

"A hint we should not ignore," Gann agreed, unslinging his spear as he cast an eye up and down Blake, before continuing. "Dreams can be malleable, within them you can be or do anything, but I think we should concentrate on a fixed reality. Both because that is harder for a foe to manipulate against us and because, even had you the experience to match a foe's manipulations of a shifting reality, we are here for answers for you."

Blake frowned and slowly nodded. "And if in the dream I am different then the answers would be for that dream-self? Rather than me?"

"That was my thought," Gann replied, "as is that since this is to be a fixed reality then what we can do awake we can do asleep."

For a moment Blake just looked at Gann and then, realising what he might mean, muttered an invocation. Whatever version of the Weave existed in a dream responded to this and Blake wasted a spell of Identify as this was one of the few spells he had prepared to cast without gestures that was not an attack. One corner of Blake's mouth quirked beneath his beard and helmet.

"Useful, though I do wish I'd considered if magic would work in a dream," Blake mildly complained, "and now I am in the dream I do not seem to have the imagination to pretend I had prepared some spells so this armour would not interfere with them."

"What armour?" Gann asked.

"This…" Blake began, "what the Hells?"

Blake looked at his bare hands, at the arm where his tower shield had been, and one hand came up and encountered hair rather than helmet metal on the top of his head. He was wearing simple clothes though his rings were still on his fingers, his amulet round his neck, and his sword belt buckled on. Blake turned his gaze to Gann as this and his comment did not seem a coincidence.

"There is a common dream about realising you are without your trousers," Gann explained. "Even with a fixed reality that dream is strong enough to be channelled and mildly altered. I suggest you make your spells that I have noticed you do each morning before encasing yourself in the metal that makes you feel secure. Then to your surprise you might then realise you were wearing your trousers after all."

"At least you did leave me my trousers," chuckled Blake, "so I thank you for that part of the 'mildly altered'."

"Please," Gann protested, "if I had not then in this cold a 'something' might get frostbite. That would draw the wrath of your lady… and I have seen her wrath in the Sloop Inn and heard the result on that Sanctuary Island."

With a mock shudder at that thought Blake began his invocations and Gann his appeals to the spirits. Soon these were complete and, as Gann had said, Blake had the surprise of realising that between one breath and the next he was in armour again and that it felt like he had never not been. It was like where you knew you had been asleep as the shadows of the sun on the wall had shifted but did not remember falling asleep and then waking between one thought and the next.

Carefully they headed down the path and around the bend, pausing as they caught sight of the group of people the snowy bank had hidden. The feeling in Blake's mind that this dream of the Ashenwood contained no living creatures save the trees and plants did not diminish though even at this sight. These people looked to be alive and looked to be real, to be more than illusions or shadows, but somehow they felt less so than Gann.

"A Red Wizard," muttered Blake, checking his sword was free in its scabbard, "and guarded."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Gann replied, as quietly, before reminding Blake. "She, and they, could be a symbol rather than a literal truth."

Despite the quietness of that exchange that seemed enough to draw the attention of one of the group. "Hsst!" she exclaimed, her hands moving into a posture Blake recognised as a spellcasting one. "Someone walks in our lady's garden…"

"Stay back!" challenged a male, turning with speed but without any sound that could be heard even in the unnatural silence. "We found her, she is ours! She is all we have, and you cannot take her away!"

"Hmm," Gann mused, "whether symbolic or not these four mean us harm. The prompting of your mind to be ready seems to have been apt."

An older man gestured to the others to keep back and took a few steps towards Blake and Gann. This as much as the confidence in his eyes suggested he was the leader of this group. "How did you find your way to this place?" he demanded. "Tell us."

"I closed my eyes and went to sleep," Blake said simply. "How else does one enter a dream?"

"Is it true?" said the first man, seeming to suffer an existential crisis. "Does he dream us, or do we dream him? And each other?"

"Be quiet," said his leader, drawing a grunt of approval from the third and rather large man who was glowering silently beneath his tusky helmet. "He is another bearer of the Gift, nothing more. They arise, one after another, blazing bright and guttering out. They hunger, gorge, and are gone… but we remain, we have her for an anchor."

Blake shook his head but the feeling remained. "You seem… familiar, who are you?"

"We are echoes of those who once bore the hunger, the Gift," replied the female mage.

"You were spirit-eaters," Blake said, "but you embraced rather than defy the curse."

"We worshipped the Gift and passed it amongst ourselves," said their leader, matching Blake's correction with his own, "each revelling in hunger for his allotted time and then slain by their successor. Sweet Juraj was first, gorging on the spirits of the wood, turning verdant green to withered black until her time had passed. Then Koszik crushed her skull and the Gift passed to him."

The large man grunted again and the woman, Juraj, glanced at him with an expression that suggested that he was Koszik and that there was still some lingering resentment over having had her skull crushed. Whether that resentment was because she had wanted more than her allotted time or because she had expected a less brutal death was less clear though.

"Poor Koszik hungered only briefly," their leader continued, "he tried to devour a great tree spirit, but it fell on him and cracked his spine."

"Yes, I have met that Treant and he told me how he passed out but managed to fall in the right direction," Blake replied. This admission drew a scowl from Koszik as he realised if Blake had spoken to that Treant then it had survived that long ago attack and that Blake had spoken to it rather than devour it. "What of you," Blake asked the leader, "did you also hunger?"

"Did I hunger?" repeated that man in surprise. "Oh yes, I sought to drink more deeply than any. I cast about for a soul that was vast enough to truly quench my hunger. My eyes always turned back to the forest and I called upon a guide, a warden of the wood, who knew the secret trails to the Wood Man's grove. And he guided me true."

"And then the Wood Man sent him to a Plane of Fire to burn forever."

"And then that," the man said, not looking or sounding troubled by this. "But, if you have walked under the eaves of the great forest you have touched the Wood Man's essence. Every creature that dies in his domain, every corpse that moulders under rock or silent eaves, is joined to him. To drink of such a spirit, to gorge on the soul of the living forest, is to embrace the Gift as no one else. And for a time, even our hunger would be sated."

"An interesting tale," said Blake politely.

"Yes, and now you must leave," the man replied, his spear coming up from rest and the others of his group spreading out a little. "Where you walk the hunger follows, trailing like a jackal in your wake, and it devours memories as surely as souls."

"Can you protect our lady from the hunger," demanded the other man, shuffling noiselessly, "from the Faceless Man?"

"The Red Woman is our anchor-stone," added Juraj, "all the others are lost and gone. Except perhaps The Boy. And the Wall, always the Wall."

"Is this truly an existence though?" Gann asked. "To be as echoes within a dream within a curse?"

"More existence than nothingness," retorted Juraj.

"We do not need your ministrations dream-walker," said the leader to Gann. "Secrecy and silence are our lady's protection. You will leave this place before the hunger follows you here and swallows her and us up."

"No," Blake replied, glaring past them at the Red Woman. "You will leave this place, you and your Red Wizard mistress. You will leave this place, you will leave this dream, and you will leave my mind."

With that Blake recited the words of magic to unleash a Firebrand. He did have other spells that evoked different elements, or used magical energy directly, for those times when he was facing something resistant to fire but as the ball of flame split and struck he saw that his usual opening attack had been useful again. One corner of Blake's mouth quirked a little as he saw the slight surprise on the enemy faces as the fireballs staggered them back a little.

Growing up in a small village it had been no secret that he was trying to strike a balance between the lessons in the arcane he took from Tarmas and what he learned training with Georg and the militia. It had seemed natural to him to continue using the skills in arms and armour even if that made the use of the arcane more difficult. But being used to his skills being no secret it had been a surprise to Blake the first time he had surprised someone with his spellcasting. He had not intended to present a false image of himself as a 'simple warrior' but if wearing armour let people misjudge his abilities, as well as keeping solid metal between them and him, then that was useful and somewhat amusing.

The fireballs had not done much harm to three of their four foes but Juraj with her more conventional wizard's garb was in more trouble. Her robes had caught fire a little rather than just being heated like the chain of her leader or the breastplate of Koszik or smouldering slightly like the leather of the other man. She sounded a little panicked as she slapped at the small fires and seemed thoroughly preoccupied by this for now.

Koszik touched one hand to where his breastplate had been struck and where his chest was beginning to feel hot despite the insulation of his padded shirt. Then he snarled and roared, his teeth looking near as impressive as the tusks on his open face helmet, and charged at Blake, his halberd swinging and stabbing out. As he sidestepped and deflected this attack with his shield Blake had a slight flashback to the trial of combat, how Lorne had chosen a similar tack, and how hard he had been to kill while his anger still filled him. This could be messy and especially since, glancing quickly around, Blake realised he had lost sight of the third man.

"Careful," Blake warned, "looks like one of them is sneaky."

"So noted," replied Gann, "and when have you known me to not be careful?"

Before Blake could reply Gann stabbed his spear out at the similarly armed leader of the four. There was a clack as the man managed to, barely, parry this with his own spear and the shafts of the weapons met. Gann drew back with impressive speed and stabbed out again, forcing the man to twist aside but not preventing the man from launching his own attack. Between them the spears flickered as they tested each other's abilities.

Blake avoided another charge from Koszik and struck back. Unfortunately though Koszik's anger made him more predictable it also made him stronger and faster and he managed to deflect this blow rather than it being a sold hit. The magic and sharpness of Blake's sword still carved a small chunk out of Koszik's halberd shaft though as it glanced off this rather than striking Koszik. Blake stepped forward to follow up on this attack but then he found his arm snagged as a sickle blade hooked around it.

The blade did not cut in as it would have on unarmoured flesh, or through padded or leather armour, as the curve of it was drawn around Blake's arm like a surgeon's defleshing knife. It did hold him in place for a moment though as his attacker stabbed at him with the dagger in his other hand. The slim blade found a chink in Blake's armour and its tip grated on the chainmail beneath as it sliced into the leather, and the layer of emergency gold, on Blake's padded shirt over his kidney. As quickly as the blade was stabbed in though it was withdrawn as the man recoiled with a cry of pain.

Blake smiled, despite the pain that showed he had been cut slightly, as the practice he had put into learning to cast persistent Death Armour paid off. He preferred magic that helped with not being hit but it seemed fair to return some of the pain if someone did manage to strike you. And learning this had seemed more worthwhile after the fight in Okku's barrow where it would at least have been tickling the bear-god while he pinned Blake down. The man's reaction did seem too great though as this aura did not hurt that much even against those less formidable than a god-of-bears.

"Spirits," Blake commented curtly. "Unused to pain?"

"Perhaps," replied Gann smoothly, "so let us test that suggestion and see what dis…"

Halfway though his sentence Gann turned and thrust backwards with the butt of his spear, driving it into the side of the leather armoured man's mouth. He staggered sideways, spitting blood and pieces of teeth, as his cheek and lips split open under the impact. Even Blake was surprised by this attack as Gann had made it look so much that he was just pulling his spear back for another thrust at their leader.

"Distractions we can offer them," Gann finished, giving a brief grin before twisting back to face the enemy leader.

The enemy leader was not there to be faced though. Juraj had finished slapping out the fires on her robes and was wincing as she tried to shape her slightly burnt hands to cast spells. The leader had taken advantage of Gann's distraction to dash the short distance back to her. He muttered an invocation. Healing energies flowed from him and as these passed through her hands the unhealthy redness faded to healthy pink and the tightness of the skin relaxed. Juraj flexed her hands and nodded in gratitude but her leader was not there to see this as he was already moving back to meet Gann.

"Ah," Gann said, sounding a little condescending, "you have some healing. So what 'god' are you deluded enough to worship and think grants you that power?"

Not replying for a moment as he flicked his spear out and forced Gann to parry the man sneered at Gann's attempt to taunt him. "My power comes from the spirits, just as yours does, fool," he said, staggering Gann more with this than with his physical attacks.

"You…you jest," Gann protested, denying the truth that he could sense in those words. "How could you repay the gifts of the spirits by devouring them and calling that a gift?"

"The spirits had always been a source of power," the man sneered, launching another attack that Gann barely avoided in his shock, "as spirit-eater I simply gave them no choice but to be thus. The gift of the curse let me take rather than rely on the charity of 'gifts' that could be withdrawn."

Gann's shock changed to anger as the man satisfied tone and expression registered. Not only had he betrayed the spirits but he was proud of the atrocities he had committed in service of himself and the hunger. With a speed that surprised even him Gann parried the next attack and struck back. The leader of the four former hosts almost lost his balance as he had to jump back to avoid a spearhead in his guts. Then he almost lost his grip on his spear as he parried and had to quickly release one hand as the spearshafts slid along each other and almost mashed his fingers between them.

Fortunately for him Juraj finally joined the fray. Her robes being on fire, her hands being burned, and the temptation to call on powerful magic rather than spells that would not harm her 'allies' had all delayed her actions. Koszik in particular she would not mind 'accidentally' hurting but putting that aside she gathered her arcane power and unleashed it with a spell of Greater Missile Storm. A flurry of magical missiles erupted from her hands and arced away to home in on Blake and Gann.

Blake met Koszik's attack with one of his own and, through luck as much as skill, managed to strike the weakened part of the halberd shaft again. As the shaft snapped and Koszik looked at the two halves of his weapon he managed to somehow look even angrier. Blake shifted balance and brought his sword back for a follow up blow but then out of the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of blue. He barely had begun to turn his head when the magical missiles struck and drove a grunt from his lungs and him a little off balance. Patches of Blake's armour glowed slightly as it re-emitted the energy it had absorbed back into the weave.

Gann was less fortunate as though he was facing more towards Juraj and had more warning this did not make much difference compared with his armour being so much less protection against this attack than Blake's. Rather than being absorbed by how metal had been treated the energy burned into the leather and the flesh beneath. One of Gann's legs buckled as a missile struck him on the hip and pain shot up and down from the impact. For a moment this pain and that of the other impacts dimmed the world around Gann and his spear drooped in his hands.

Seeing Gann stagger the leader of the four stabbed his own spear out at him, but Blake was there. The tip of the man's spearhead grated across the wood and then clanked against the metal blade-ridge down the middle of Blake's shield as he thrust it across in front of Gann and drove the man's spear to the side with his shield's motion. For a moment both were vulnerable as Blake had needed to turn his back to the man and the man was off balance from the power of his own diverted attack. With a creak of leather from the shield straps Blake pulled back. It would have been easier once he had his shield moving to just let that momentum carry him through the rest of a pirouette but that would have swept his shield into Gann.

There was a roaring of semi-vocal curses as Koszik charged at his distracted foe. He might no longer have a Halberd but the blade and one half of the shaft made quite a good axe and the other half of the shaft with its ferrule was an acceptable club. Blake braced himself and met Koszik's attack while Gann had regained some of his balance and half skipped sideways to continue fighting the leader and give Blake some room while protecting his back. There was a slightly booming thud as Koszik's 'club' met Blake's shield. Despite his seemingly bestial rage this blow was a well judged one, angled to hit the shield and try to drive it to one side for the follow up blow from the 'axe'. At the last moment though Blake had twisted and so the club met a shield moving in the opposite direction rather than stationary. The doubling of the impact sent a twinge through Blake's arm but that his shield was still in position and he had robbed Koszik of his momentum was more important.

Having been stopped from twisting one way Koszik could not twist back the other way in a forehand blow with his 'axe' but he could punch it forward in a slightly overhand attack. Blake tried to dodge this but did not succeed entirely as a fresh mark was scored down the face of his shield. Then the 'club' was coming back and Blake had to block that attack. Koszik's rage made his tactics less subtle and this let Blake better judge and deflect his blows. Even so the unrelenting fury of these attacks were keeping Blake a little off-balance and preventing him from taking advantage of how much they were also leaving Koszik open to a counter-attack.

The leader stabbed at Gann. For the moment the Hagspawn was moving slower but the man knew that if he gave him a chance he would summon some healing magic. Then the patches of magic-charred flesh that were hampering his foe with the pain of moving and causing them to split and tear would be restored to healthy tissue that would stretch and flex. Gann deflected the attack, though less effortlessly than before and a twitch around his eyes showed this had caused him another jolt of pain. The man cursed a little at this and then as he noticed Koszik also was fighting alone.

"Iroj!" their leader called. "Stop hanging back…" He thrust out again, barely stopping Gann from having the time to heal. "Help Koszik!"

The leather-armoured man, Iroj, gave his leader a dubious look. He'd tried stabbing that armoured fellow and it had hurt as well as not working all that well. Reluctantly Iroj began circling in and trying to look like he was looking for a chance to attack rather than waiting for Koszik to get the job done.

Gann saw a chance in how hurried the attack to stop him healing had been and thrust his own spear back, managing to score the man's leather breastplate. "Help him?" Gann mocked as the man jumped back a moment too late. "I think you should look for help for yourself as you will pay for your crimes against the spirits."

Koszik's snarling of curses and the rhythmic sound of his pounding against Blake's shield suddenly faltered as he swung his 'axe' and it slipped from his hand. Through his anger he began to realise he was in quite a lot of pain. He looked down at his hand and saw that the leather of his gauntlet had burned and cracked and split and that the edges of these splits were becoming damp as something oozed through them. For a moment Koszik stared at his hand in surprise.

That moment was long enough for Blake to catch his breath and attack. Koszik quickly swung his 'club' in a hurried parry but that was not his best hand and his haste made it a clumsy swing. Blake dipped the path of his sword a little so rather than meeting the 'club' and biting into the wood it met the wrist of the hand holding it. The fingers relaxed as the tendons leading to them from the muscles of the forearm were severed along with everything else. As the 'club' and the hand continued their separate ways Blake's sword continued on. But despite its sharpness, further enhanced by a temporary spell, it had been slowed by passing through Koszik's wrist. This and the change in its path and Koszik's movement meant it barely did more than scratch Koszik's helmet as it glanced off the curve of it.

However the blow and having lost his hand did stagger Koszik and begin to break the rage that was giving him strength. The smooth motion of Blake's sword froze for an almost imperceptible pause before he brought it back. This enemy was almost helpless, one hand ruined and the other hand gone, but the thought of offering quarter was a flitting one as Koszik continued to snarl curses and threats that showed he would not surrender.

Blake cursed to himself as his sword hit Koszik in the side. Against leather or an unarmoured foe that would have cut deep and even if the metal had not reached that far the magic of his sword discharging into the flesh would have reached the spine. But Koszik was more heavily armoured than most of the enemies Blake had faced in Rashemen so all it did here was dent the metal where the Breastplate curved around. Even if it did feel like the impact might have broken a few ribs that was still sloppy and Blake was annoyed with himself as he knew better.

Measuring his foe Blake took half a step back to decide which of the places he should have struck he would strike at now. Koszik was losing blood rapidly from his wrist so maybe a cut to thigh or arm could speed that further… then Blake realised he could hear spellcasting and recognised the spell. He turned just as Juraj finished and a beam of Disintegrate joined her hands to his chest. The half step back had given her a clear shot and Blake's breastplate glowed brightly as it tried and failed to absorb the magic. It was just too much in one narrow beam and the spellate through the enchanted Mithril plate and spread across the chainmail beneath. The metal absorbed the direct effects but enough heat burned across Blake's chest from his breastplate's attempt to re-radiate the magic energy that his padded undershirt began to smoulder.

This was more than enough to drive Blake back and he barely managed to control his fall enough to make himself end up down on one knee rather than on his arse or flat on his back. Iroj saw his chance as well and that if he hesitated any more then Juraj might cast another spell and get the credit. He quickly scabbarded his dagger so he could use both hands on his sickle and darting forward and behind Blake brought the curve of his sickle around and against the curve of Blake's neck. Iroj grasped the other end of his sickle blade with his other hand and threw his weight into pulling back and up. Either this would cut Blake's throat or if the edge of the sickle were defeated by the chainmail then would still probably break his neck with the sudden wrench.

As Iroj pulled though Blake moved with this pull and flung himself backwards. Iroj stumbled off balance as his pull met no resistance and then went flat on his back as Blake's armoured shoulders hit him in the ribs. The breath went from his lungs as Blake managed to land on him as though Blake was not the largest of men he was not small and with his armour this was a considerable weight. As Iroj fought for breath Blake twisted. He was not winded as he'd anticipated the impact but the pain in his chest made him clumsy. The world was a little dark around the edges for Blake but he managed to keep his weight on Iroj and plant his shield on him to keep him down. Then he punched Iroj in the mouth with the crossguard of his sword. This seemed dimly satisfying so Blake smashed the pommel of his sword down on the bridge of Iroj's nose and then again, and again.

Gann glanced across and bit back a curse of his own as he saw Blake slowly but determinedly turning Iroj's face to pulp. There did not seem much power in the blows, it was more like Blake was simply lifting his arm and letting it fall with its weight and that of the armour and sword back down. Gann had seen Berserkers of Rashemen in a similar state when their sparring match had reached the point where ability to think had left them but the unwillingness to quit had not. Blake seemed just as punch-drunk and unable to see the enemy wizard circling and seeking an angle for another spell or the tusked-helmeted fool having regained enough wits to be wrapping an almost instantly blood soaked cloth around the stump of his wrist.

A quick flurry of wild blows drove the leader of their enemies back and then Gann sprinted across to near Blake. He could hear the footsteps in pursuit but ignored them as he concentrated on one of the healing methods he knew that would affect both himself and Blake. The magic flowed through him and out and Gann sighed in relief as his own wounds became less painful and as he tried to sidestep and turn. The appeal had taken just a moment too long though and Gann had started moving that moment too late, fresh agony streaked through him as the spearhead of his enemy carved a chunk out of his battered leather armour and his side.

"Seems is not me that needs help," taunted the man as blood soaked down towards Gann's leg.

Gann did not reply other than to attempt to return the favour but make it a more solid hit. The man danced back a little, avoiding Gann's spearthrust and satisfied to not press the attack. The Hagspawn was bleeding and this would slow him even if Juraj did not manage to strike him with a spell as she had the one that had betrayed the gift.

Blake meanwhile blinked a few times as he looked down at the ruined face, the blood bubbling as Iroj breathed through his smashed mouth and nose, and then at the gore coating the pommel of his sword. He did seem to have done a lot of damage and people had died from less battering, but a couple of blows would have kept this fellow dazed long enough for him to stand and use the blade of his sword for a more immediately fatal wound. As the shock began to wear off and Blake's mind cleared of that as it had of pain, thanks to Gann, he heard a familiar sound.

Pushing up on his shield, with a slight crunch from Iroj as the metal blade-ridge dug in, Blake rocked back onto his knees. Another beam of Disintegrate streaked past him and Iroj, barely missing them both, and spent itself into the dreamscape's ground. Juraj scowled at Blake as he glared at her and then her hands began moving again as her voice called on the power of the Weave to cast another spell. Unfortunately for her in her annoyance with having missed she had taken too long scowling before starting this and had not noticed the subtler abbreviated twitches or the muttering of Blake's own spellcasting. Theoretically he did not need even those slight movements to betray his intent but it was hard to not wiggle his fingers at all.

A Vitriolic Sphere formed and arced up from in front of Blake to burst over Juraj. The acid soaked into her hair and clothes, which began smoking as they were eaten away at. Her skin began to blister and her spellcasting words and movements became screams and attempts to shake the acid off herself. Juraj continued to scream as pain like she had not felt in decades, if ever, wracked her dreamform. The thinner acid that did most of the initial damage had flowed off her or had spent itself but the spell was a nasty one. Some of the acid was more inclined to cling to the target, like river mud compared with river water, and this continued to burn at her.

These screams seemed to rouse Koszik and bring him back from the daze of blood loss and the pain of his rough bandage against the fresh wound of his stump. He lurched back to his feet and tried to pick up his 'axe' with his remaining hand as blood seeped and dripped from where his other hand had been. Koszik snarled and tried to work himself back up into a rage as his hand failed to work and fresh pain from the magic burns Blake's Death Armour had inflicted shot up his arm from it. Realising Blake had noticed him Koszik charged. He was confident he could just bear him down and then beat him to death just as he had been beating Iroj to death.

Koszik's attack was quite easy to read so Blake rose to the challenge and up off his knees. A couple of short steps and his sword stabbing forward met Koszik as he charged. The impact drove Blake back down onto one knee again but also drove his sword through Koszik's breast and backplate and the guts between. Blake twisted at the sword as Koszik tried to scrape the tusks on his helmet into Blake's open-faced helm and across his face. For a moment they struggled, rage and size competing against magic and skill, but then Koszik's weight became dead weight as finally the damage from the sword and the magic it was discharging into his innards took effect.

Blake braced himself and stood, angling his sword to let the corpse's own weight slide it off with a wince-inspiring screech as the edges of the cut through the breastplate scraped back along the blade. He glanced between their foes that were still fighting and at the Red Wizard who was still watching. While Juraj was still screaming there was a chance to kill her but also a chance to kill the Red Wizard or to help Gann since he was bleeding.

"Finish her!" Gann snapped, his spearhead and that of the leader clinking together as they parry-thrust. Gann knew his opponent was being cautious in waiting for his wound to weaken him and if his side did not hurt so much he might have been flattered.

Juraj's head whipped up as she heard this and knew that, aside from their Red Lady, there was only one 'her' present and she was the one that had been injured and would be 'finished'. As feared the gift-bearer was moving towards her and picking up speed despite the weight of his damaged armour. Juraj tried to focus through the pain of the last lingering globs of acid and through the panic of being charged by someone so covered in blood and with so little of it being his own. Her voice stumbled, her invocation failed, and that was the last she knew as Blake put the momentum of his charge into his blow, twisting at the waist and going for power rather than subtlety, and swept her head from her shoulders.

The leader looked worried as Juraj's decapitated body slumped to the ground and her head rolled to a stop. It was not that he had any particular liking for the others after having spent these timeless years stuck in this fragment of a dreamscape with them. But the odds were becoming poor as though Iroj was stirring he was not coming around fast enough to be of use and nor was the Hagspawn weakening fast enough. Juraj and Koszik had managed to slow the betrayer of the gift and leave his chest vulnerable to a spearthrust but that might also not be enough.

As confident as he was in his abilities the leader decided he needed some help and to be more subtle than that roaring fool Koszik. He stabbed at Gann and this was parried, stabbed the same blow again with the same result, a third time only slightly different and another parry, and then the fourth attack. Gann was cautious that this could be an attempt to lull him into a pattern as the repetition of the blows was not a complex trick. But as he carefully moved to parry he'd not expected the man to draw back and make a dash to try to heal Iroj.

Reaching his subordinate's side the man made his demand of the power of the spirits and channelled their energy as healing. Iroj's eyes fluttered open as the wounds healed over and the pain and dizzy vagueness left him. His face would still require more work to rebuild his nose and regrow his teeth but at least he was no longer breathing through and nearly choking on his own blood.

Unfortunately for Iroj he would not get that chance. His eyes widened further and more suddenly as Gann caught up with the leader and stabbed past him and into Iroj's heart to kill him. A second or two more and Iroj might have been awake enough to wriggle aside but that was something he'd not had. Annoyed at the waste of his healing the leader swept the butt of his spear in a short arc behind him. Gann hopped and staggered back as this butt caught him in the knee and there was a slight crunch of cartilage. The man continued his sweeping movement to turn and bring his spear into stabbing position and then attacked his off-balance foe.

Gann parried again, just, but his knee now hurt almost as much as his side did and was hampering his movements even more. It was supporting him for now but he didn't know how much strain he could put on it so he had to be cautious. The leader smiled at Gann, a promise of death, and stabbed out again. This Gann barely avoided but a wince went across his face as his knee twinged. Sensing victory the man began another thrust, but had to quickly jump sideways as Blake arrived and his sword blurred through where the man had been.

Blake was rather hunkered down behind his shield as he was very aware of the hole in his breastplate and chainmail. There was barely more metal over his chest than went into one of those impractical stage garments they dressed 'female warriors' in to increase audience interest by decreasing the support for and concealment over the, usually generous, bosom of the actress. Blake dabbed out his sword again in a short movement and the man stabbed his spear back at Blake's face, where he was peering over his shield, and drove him back half a step. Then Gann stabbed him in the side.

The man coughed as air was driven from his lungs by the impact but that cough was a truncated one as Blake thrust forward past the now drooping spear and stabbed him in the other side. For a moment the man was held up by Blake and Gann's weapons and then, the metal of Blake's sword and Gann's spearhead scraping slightly against each other within him, they withdrew and he fell to his knees. He choked and vomited blood as his head drooped but managed to start gathering more power from the spirits to try to heal himself and try to at least inflict another wound on those that were killing him. This was interrupted though as Gann drove his spear back into him, a few inches above the previous wound, and then pulled back so Blake could step in and bring his sword down on the back of the man's neck.

This was not a clean decapitation as however much the man's posture down on his knees with his head bowed was similar to that for an execution Blake was not practised in delivering an executioner's blow. He'd been fortunate against the Gargoyle and the neck there had been a larger target. Here the edge of his sword bit deep into the base of the man's skull but this blow and the magic discharging from his sword into the man's brain was just as fatal as if the head had been taken fully rather than only partially off. Gann smiled weakly and uttered his own request to ask the spirits for their blessing to heal him, and then the pain lines on his face relaxed as his knee became sound and blood stopped seeping down his side.

"I liked this armour," commented Blake, looking rueful as he felt along the edges of the hole in his ruined breastplate. "Protected me and didn't restrict my movements as much as Iron or Adamantine would…"

"Remember this is a dream," Gann replied, his smile broadening. "We could have died here, the link between mind and body is strong, but your great lump of metal is still undamaged in the waking world."

Blake glanced up from where he had been pressing his chin to his chest to look down and nodded before commenting. "Aye, seems was a myth that you feel no pain in dreams. That asking someone to pinch you would show if you were dreaming."

"I can think of more pleasant things to ask someone to do in a dream. I do not know if your myth is true in normal dreams, just that it is not in the shared dreamscapes I have so long walked, and that, yes, that certainly did hurt."

"It would have hurt more if she had taken a part," muttered Blake, frowning and pointing at the Red Woman. "Reminds me of the Veil Theatre where the Red Wizards left it to their Gnolls to fight until it was too late."

Gann tilted his head slightly to one side as he considered the body language of the silently watching woman. "I think she might not be as hostile or as unwelcoming as her supposed protectors," Gann mused, "who were maybe more her jailers."

"Let us speak to her then, there is a serenity about her that engenders some trust, but let us still be on our guard for treachery."

"Of course," Gann replied, taking a fresh grip on his spear.

The Red Woman seemed almost to not notice their approach until they were nearly within striking distance. Her gaze focussed rather than being into nothingness and her posture became less slack though her expression did not change from vague blankness. The impression she gave was that she was not fully a part of this dreamscape, not as completely within it as the others had been and as Blake and Gann were still.

"I waited for you," breathed the Red Woman, breaking her silence, "I feared you would not find me before… before the hunger took me."

"She speaks as if an echo, across a great distance," Gann commented to Blake, who nodded at this apt description. She did seem faint as if her source was lost in the mists of a valley or of time. Gann turned to the Red Woman. "And a familiar echo," he continued, "those others called you their anchor. Why?"

"A strong memory can anchor the weak, and I am but a memory," replied the Red Woman, "very strong and very old, a memory of love lost but not forgotten."

"Those others did not seem weaker than you," Blake frowned, "and if you were truly their anchor then it is your fault that they were still within this curse to become within my mind. Without you they might have drifted away."

"This mask fragment contains my essence, all that I am," said the Red Woman, ignoring Blake's words and proffering the fragment. "I have saved it for you, curse-bearer, kept it hidden in this remote and forgotten place."

"That mask she offers," Gann advised, his eyes narrowing as he peered at it, "if it can exist outside the dream it is a powerful thing indeed. It is your choice to take it or not, but you'd best decide quickly."

"We will not see each other again, not until you must draw on the memory of what once was. Know that I will be safe, while the mask is in your hands."

Blake was not sure if he cared whether she would be safe or if saw her again or not. His curse was due to the Red Wizards and he had just suffered considerable pain at the hands of this woman's protectors. But he trusted Gann's judgement that this fragment would be powerful thing and there might be clues to be learned from it if it could leave this dreamscape when they woke.

"I'll trust you are a metaphor," Blake curtly nodded to the Red Woman as he took the mask, "the deceitfulness of Red Wizards being used to show the complexity of this curse, and I hope this 'memory' is worth the trouble your presence has caused."

There seemed to be more the Red Woman wanted to say but the brilliant sun of the dream suddenly began to fade, the white of the snow to blur into a mist and the corpses of the previous curse-bearers to become indistinct blobs against that haze. The words from the Red Woman's lips to become like an echo that had travelled too far a distance and become muted and muddled noise. Blake felt his eyes open and the scene of the Dreamscape was replaced by that of the Mosstone. This was far preferable as it included a pretty Tiefling looking down at him. Unfortunately she was crouching just outside of grabbing and kissing range so that denied Blake one, pleasant, way to take the look of concern off her face.

"Are you okay harbour-boy?" asked Neeshka, sounding as worried as she looked. "You were muttering and twitching in your sleep."

"You should have been resting yourself my love," Blake replied, sitting up and pressing the heel of one hand to his eye. It was a little disorientating finding himself back in chainmail that was intact, with less armour on, and without his helmet or shield or sword.

"Never mind that," frowned Neeshka, noticing Blake was distracted, "you didn't answer my question."

"I met, we met… Gann had also entered the dream… what seemed to be aspects of previous spirit-eaters," Blake replied, "the one that gave that huge Treant the blight and the one that tried to eat the Wood Man and got that luckless tracker condemned to fire."

"And the muttering and twitching?" Neeshka pressed.

"They were not pleased to see us," said Blake, smiling reassuringly, "but we won the argument."

"Hrm," Neeshka pouted, "I don't like the idea of you fighting without me there to protect you… and where did you get that?"

Blake looked down at his hand where Neeshka was looking and nodded to himself. "Ah, seems this can exist outside the dream, the aspects were protecting…"

"Or imprisoning…" Gann commented.

"Someone they called the Red Woman. She was dressed as a Red Wizard and looked vaguely familiar," continued Blake, "perhaps like the one you slew back in Okku's burrow and claimed she was the memory of a lost love and that this mask contained her essence."

"Well let's burn it then," Neeshka suggested, her face twisting in remembered grudge. "If she looked like the daughter then she looked like the 'headmistress' mother that had her gargoyles abduct you, and looked like their conspirator Lienna did before she burned herself. Not just a Red Wizard but one that might be related to…"

"No!" Gann protested, "I mean… I do not think that wise. Not until we learn more about why that part of the dream took that face."

"Aye," agreed Blake, closing his eyes a moment in thought. "I do not trust this gift and would happily cast it into fire. Nothing that was said in that dream was outside what we had already learned or could easily imagine. But in matters of dreams I trust Gann's instincts and we need whatever clues we can find."

Neeshka frowned at Blake as Gann smiled. "I thank you, though I hope you also trust my instincts outside of dreams as well."

"Fish for compliments elsewhere Gann," Blake replied. "You know I trust your instincts or I'd not be taking your counsel or, perhaps, even travelling with you."

"Ah, faint praise like that the Witches provide you, but I agree your actions do show what your words and attitudes sometimes do not."

"I hope you know what you are doing harbour-boy," Neeshka grumbled, annoyed that Blake had not obeyed her suggestion.

"So do I," admitted Blake, "but if possible we shall burn the Headmistress instead of, or as well as, this mask fragment."

"That's fair," Neeshka said, her usual smile reappearing.

"If we have finished with the hag-spawns idea then let us be on our way," rumbled Okku, impatient with the discussion. "It is tedious watching you creatures of flesh lie around and the fire still burns and the blight still infects the forest."

"Aye," Blake nodded to the bear god, "let's see if these Orglash essences will counter that Shape of Fire."