After they emerged from the forest and started following the eastward road, Imoen began peppering Xzar with questions and small talk. The wizard seemed simultaneously nonplussed and pleased at the attention, pausing awkwardly before answering her questions shortly and vaguely at times, then quickly going into rambling tangents at others.

Glancing over his shoulder at them, Dorean felt that Imoen was speaking with more than one person, yet seemed more curious and intrigued than disturbed.

He blinked and listened, catching the tail end of one of Xzar's ramblings.

"...and then, after he stopped calling for his mother, I asked him again, and he told us where his friends were staying. Then I poked him in the chest with a fire poker!"

Dorean's eyes flicked to Imoen; she had slowed down her walk, staring up at the tall man. Xzar's smile faltered and he blinked at her, awaiting her response.

"...did that really happen?"

Xzar turned away, looking embarrassed.

"Hm. Well, I may have made up that last part. Or the second one. Or all of it."

"Oh."

Silence fell between them for the first time in hours, Xzar looking away while Imoen stared up at him. Then she took a deep breath, puffing out her chest.

"So, you're from Moonsea?" she asked casually. "That's north of here, right?"

Xzar's hair whirled as he quickly turned his head to face her, his smile back and all embarrassment gone.

"Yes, that is right!" He paused and wagged a finger at her. "North-East, young lady, " he corrected, his tone now suddenly resembling that of an old scholar. "North of here lies the High Forest, wherein dwell the elves of old."

"I like elves," Imoen said innocently. Xzar leaned close, his face inches from hers with one eye narrowed and the other widened.

"Dooo yooou?" he purred. "And how many of them have you met, pray tell?"

Imoen leaned back from him, blinking rapidly. "Urm. None, actually. But I have read-"

Xzar suddenly straightened himself, lifting his chin in admonishment and wagging his finger again. "Do not believe everything you read, dear girl," he said, using his old-scholar tone again.

He dropped his finger, beamed down at her, then started to talk about Moonsea as though she had not brought up the subject of elves. Imoen blinked up at him again, looked to Dorean, shrugged, then waited for Xzar to pause for breath before interrupting him.

"So did you travel through Anauroch on your way here?"

The wizard paused, his hands held out in front of him in mid-description of his homeland.

"The Great Sand Sea?" He said absently. "No, I was not in Moonsea when I was tasked to investigate this crisis. We were much closer than that."

Ahead of them and several paces to Dorean's side, Montaron very slowly turned his head, though not enough to glance at his partner.

Dorean glanced at him before his own eyes met Imoen's.

The words passed between them silently.

Moonsea, said Imoen.

Mercenaries, said Dorean.

Zhentarim.

Xzar either did not notice, or chose to ignore both them and his partner; he continued to share his story of travelling with Montaron (a most unpleasant travelling companion, he added) to the Sword Coast.

Imoen held Dorean's gaze for a moment before turning back to Xzar. The dwarf looked at Montaron and saw that the halfling had quietly resumed his focus on the road ahead.

"If you wish it, I could tell her to stop talking to him," Dorean offered. The halfling did not so much as glance at him, and Dorean had turned his own gaze to the road by the time he answered.

"S' fine. Least now someone else is around to put up wit' 'im." He paused before closing his mouth, and it seemed to Dorean that he wanted to say something further and decided not to. The dwarf hesitated before speaking again, choosing his words carefully.

"You and Xzar do not appear to like each other very much."

Montaron glanced sideways at him before looking back to the road. "We don't," he answered shortly.

Dorean took a breath. "So why do you work with him?"

This time, Montaron turned his head to face Dorean fully, eyes narrowed and mouth closed into a thin line. The dwarf raised his hands in front of him. "Hey, I'm only curious," he said calmly. "Just a friendly question."

"Keep askin' 'em," the halfling replied, his voice low. "An' I won't be so friendly."

They both slowed their walking, staring at each other. Behind them, Imoen and Xzar glanced at their respective partners. After a moment, Dorean raised his hands again.

"Look, I'm sorry if I-"

The halfling's head whirled to face ahead of them before he immediately turned off the road and into the undergrowth.

Dorean blinked, then turned to look and immediately went for his crossbow at the sight of red robes.

He paused with it halfway off his back upon seeing a thick white beard and pointy hat, then slowly moved it into his arms, at the ready but not hostile.

The wizard, for he could be nothing else, had stopped as well upon seeing them.

As he looked at the stranger's face, the next few seconds slowed down to a crawl for Dorean.

He saw the man's face fall, and his eyes moving not onto any of the three people in front of him, but past and around them before settling on Dorean's face. For a brief half-second, the old stranger appeared to lose all expression, his fingers tightening around his staff.

Then time went back to normal, and the old man's face was now warm and friendly, wearing a smile crooked by the pipe between his lips. He raised a hand in greeting.

"Ho there!" He walked toward them, ignoring Dorean's held crossbow. Imoen glanced at the dwarf, then held up her own hand and waved.

"Hello! Nice to know we aren't the only ones on the road." She moved next to Dorean. "You're the first person we've met in hours."

The stranger seemed to relax, his smile widening as he stopped in front of the duo. "Well, not to complain, friends, but I would say you have had it easy compared to me. It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road, and I've been without decent conversation since."

Imoen's eyes widened. "Ten days? Wow." She looked at Dorean. "I'd go crazy in two."

The old man chuckled audibly through his large beard. Acting as though to relax his grip on the crossbow, Dorean shifted it slightly so that the loaded bolt was now pointed at the man's knee.

"Where did you set out from, sir, if I may ask?" he asked politely. The stranger's eyes met his, and again, for a half-second, his expression turned cold before he smiled and answered cheerily.

"From the city of Baldur's Gate." He gave a wave to the horizon with his free hand. "To the north."

Dorean frowned. "And you haven't seen anyone else on the road?"

The stranger lowered his hand. "Not a soul." He sighed. "I suppose the recent troubles have been keeping most folks in their homes. Travelling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged." He cocked his head, causing his hat to wobble as he smiled down at them. "If thou wouldst pardon my intrusion, may I inquire which pertains to thee?"

The two thieves glanced at each other, and Imoen saw from the corner of her eye that Dorean's crossbow, still pointed at the stranger's leg, was now trembling very slightly from his tightened grip. The finger of his left hand was on the trigger, a half-inch away from launching the bolt.

"A fair bit of desperate, actually," she said, quickly looking back to the man and straightening her back. "Might you know the way to the Friendly Arm Inn? We're told that some friends of ours might be there."

The old stranger blinked at her and smiled, nodding his head. "That I would." He scratched his bearded chin. "The inn lies a short distance to the north, and this road should lead you there. Just make sure to follow the directions at the crossroads."

Imoen bowed her head. "Thank you, sir." She nudged Dorean with her foot, and he bowed as well, keeping his eyes on the stranger's and noticing that they were moving over his blood-stained bandage and the cuts on Imoen's face and arms.

"I have no doubt," said the old man slowly, "that thy friends shall be there, waiting with open arms." He paused for a moment before speaking again.

"You have my sympathies for any hardships the road may have inflicted upon thee."

Dorean and Imoen blinked at him; his tone was now much more gentle than before. He lowered his head, the wide brim of his hat casting his face into shadow.

"Though I am certain everything shall turn out for the best."

For a brief second, he looked past them, and Dorean resisted the urge to look behind him. The old man raised his head and smiled again.

"My, but I have wasted too much of thy time and said too much already."

"Oh, not at all, sir," replied Imoen, smiling back at him. He raised his hat and tipped it to her.

"I shall take my leave, and wish thee all the best."

Without further ado, he replaced his hat on his head and walked past them. Dorean and Imoen turned, watching him.

Xzar stood very still, back ramrod straight, arms at his sides and his chin slightly raised as he watched the stranger approach him. His expression was blank, though his eyes gleamed brightly.

The stranger passed very close to him, nearly brushing his arm, and it seemed that he slowed down his walk as he did so. The two wizards met each other's gaze for a very brief moment before the red-robed one passed by him. Xzar remained where he stood, his eyes on the spot where the man had walked out of his vision.

"Well," said Imoen after a moment. "That was odd."

"More than odd," said a voice behind them. Dorean and Imoen jumped and turned around to see Montaron standing behind them, watching the stranger's retreating back.

"What d'you mean?" Imoen asked.

"What I said," he answered unhelpfully. For a few seconds, he and Xzar looked at each other, and Dorean recognized the silent passing of words before the halfling then looked down at Dorean's crossbow.

Looking at it himself, the dwarf realized that he was gripping it so tightly that only his gloves were keeping his fingers from digging into the wood.

They both lifted their eyes to each other, and Montaron raised an eyebrow before turning away. Imoen blinked, then adjusted her pack and followed him.

Dorean glanced back at Xzar; the man was now walking toward them, shoulders hunched and looking at the ground. The dwarf watched him for several seconds before turning to catch up with Imoen.

..

Xzar remained at the rear of the group, head lowered and apparently in deep thought. Occasionally he would mutter to himself, scratch his arms, rub the stubble on his chin and run his hands through his hair. Dorean and Imoen, now walking side by side, occasionally shot glances at the clearly agitated wizard. Montaron ignored all of them.

A few hours later, it became clear to them that the old stranger had not exaggerated in his claim of not seeing anyone for days.

"This is the Coast Way, ain't it?" Imoen said aloud, turning to Dorean. "Supposed to be one of the busiest roads in these parts."

"Yeah," Dorean answered, eyes scanning their surroundings. He moved his crossbow, which had remained in his arms since their encounter with the red-robed man, to one hand, resting it against his left shoulder with the point facing up, and stroked his beard. "It's between the Gate, Beregost and Candlekeep."

Imoen stroked her own chin as well. "The supply wagons come to the Keep at least twice a week. Usually more. We..." She paused, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. "We used to nick things from them after they're left outside the inn."

She looked down to see Dorean staring up at her, scrutinizing the bags under her eyes and her head lolling very slightly from side to side. Before she could reassure him, the dwarf turned away, returned his crossbow to its previous position in both his arms, and quickened his pace to move up to Montaron. She blinked at his back.

"We need to take a short rest," the dwarf said quietly.

"No."

"It will only be for a few hours."

"Ye have me answer."

Dorean felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, and his fingers again involuntarily tightened around his crossbow. After a moment of seeing no change in the halfling's expression or demeanour, he fell back next to Imoen. She smiled down at him and gently ruffled his hair, taking care not to touch the bandage. He did not look up at her.

..

About an hour later, they finally encountered another person on the road, carrying a long stick over his shoulder from which hung a few dead rabbits.

He introduced himself as Aoln, a local hunter in the employ of the Friendly Arm. This time Montaron did not disappear off the path. Instead, he stood off to the side watching Aoln with obvious distrust while Dorean and Imoen spoke to him.

Dorean questioned the man on the dangers in the area while Imoen asked him about his hunting exploits. Aoln kept glancing at Montaron's unpleasant leer and Xzar's bright-eyed stare while the other two attempted to divert his attention.

"If it's so dangerous out here, why are you alone?" asked Dorean. "Wouldn't it be safer in a group?"

"You're one to talk," Aoln muttered audibly, glancing again at Xzar and Montaron. He then raised his voice, seemingly not realizing that Dorean had heard him. "I am a hunter, see. Have to stalk animals quiet-like. Not so easy when there's lots of other folks around, right?" He smiled nervously at Montaron. The halfling did not smile back.

After a moment, Aoln quickly told them he had meat to catch and bid them farewell.

He moved past Dorean and Imoen. Xzar then stepped to the side, blocking his way. The hunter swallowed and stepped back.

"I-I don't have any money."

Dorean and Imoen glanced at each other. Aoln's free hand drifted toward the knife on his belt. Montaron remained very still, watching the hand.

"Your rabbits," Xzar said suddenly, pointing at the dead animals without taking his eyes off Aoln's face. "I want them." He lowered his hand. "How much are they worth?"

Aoln blinked and then released his held breath. So did Dorean and Imoen, who then smiled and stepped forward.

As she bargained over the price while Xzar examined the dead rabbits, Dorean looked at Imoen for a moment before going to Montaron. The halfling had folded his arms and was watching his partner intently as the man moved to stand next to Imoen, patting her gently on the back as she sleepily rubbed her forehead again. He did not look at the dwarf.

"Gibberlings and wolves," said Dorean. "They are more active at night than in the day."

"All the more reason fer us to keep movin'," Montaron answered, still looking at Xzar and Imoen. Dorean briefly closed his eyes, then inhaled and exhaled deeply before speaking again.

"We won't reach the inn before nightfall." He pointed a casual finger at the sky. "The sun will be setting in a few hours."

The halfling finally looked at him. Dorean held his gaze and kept speaking.

"When it does, we should stop and make a fire. It'll keep the beasts away." He paused. "I believe it would be better than to risk being attacked in the dark."

Montaron blinked slowly and impassively at him, and it occurred to Dorean that halflings and dwarves have low-light vision. He gritted his teeth behind his closed mouth, grateful for his thick beard, and awaited the man's answer.

"Got yer own tinderbox?"

Dorean resisted the impulse to appear relaxed, maintaining his calm demeanour. "Yes, I do."

"Ye'll be gatherin' the wood, then." The halfling turned back to Xzar, Imoen and Aoln, and spoke no further.

As Dorean walked over to join Imoen, Montaron watched, eyes narrowed and unblinking, as Xzar smiled radiantly at the pink girl for successfully haggling an exasperated and nervous Aoln down to half his asking price.

..

When night fell, Montaron kept the group moving for another half-hour before selecting a spot about thirty paces off from the road on the edge of the trees.

After taking off his own pack, Dorean helped Imoen with Gorion's. "You should get some rest." He laid the pack on the ground at her feet. Imoen faced him and kneeled down.

"In a minute. Gotta check you first." She brought her hands to the bandage on his head. Dorean brushed them away.

"There's no need."

"'Course there is," said Imoen. "It's still bleeding."

"It's not a problem for me. You need to sleep."

She paused for a moment, then placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

He realized then that she was not referring to his wound. He paused, looking into her eyes.

"I'm fine," he said gently. "Get some sleep."

Imoen gave him a hug, then laid down and placed her head on Gorion's pack.

"G'night, little brother."

She was asleep in seconds.

Dorean watched her for a moment before removing his cloak and laying it over her.

He looked up to see Xzar watching him, his head cocked to the side.

Picking up a pebble, Montaron held it between thumb and forefinger before bouncing it off Dorean's leg. The dwarf winced and turned to him.

"Firewood."

Dorean's eyes narrowed slightly for a second before he quickly looked away. "Right."

Feeling both Xzar and Montaron's eyes on him, he slung his crossbow onto his back before moving away to gather twigs, brush and stones.

..

When Dorean returned ten minutes later, he found Montaron sharpening a large, curved knife with a whetstone and Xzar skinning one of the rabbits he had bought from Aoln. The wizard was using a large rock as a table and the surface was now red with blood.

While Montaron did not lift his head from his work or indeed acknowledge Dorean, Xzar looked up upon seeing the dwarf approach, stopped his work and resumed quietly staring at him wide-eyed. Dorean hesitated for a moment before deciding to just ignore him.

After several clumsy and unsuccessful attempts at lighting the fire, Montaron growled, walked over, pushed Dorean aside and did it himself before tossing him his tinderbox.

Taking a moment to glare maliciously at the back of the halfling's neck, Dorean then sat down next to Imoen, placing his back against his own pack. Resting his crossbow on his lap, he then looked down at her.

Lying on her side, her head was now on the edge of Gorion's pack and a few inches from falling onto the grass. Dorean leaned over, took her by the shoulders, gently pushed her sideways until her head was on its centre, then adjusted the cloak to cover her more thoroughly. He then leaned back and watched her, his expression pensive, before turning his gaze to the night sky.

"You care for each other."

Dorean looked at Xzar. The man had spoken so softly than the dwarf had barely heard him over the crackling of the fire. He blinked, unsure of how to answer.

"You care for each other," Xzar repeated slowly. He sat down the knife he was using to skin the rabbit, got up and walked over to Dorean. "Don't you?" He sat down on the grass cross-legged in front of the dwarf.

Dorean hesitated, looking up at the man. The wizard's green eyes, reflected by the firelight, shone even brighter than in the daytime. There's something almost...unnatural about them.

"I have known her for ten years," he said quietly.

"Ten years," Xzar said. He looked off to the side at nothing, blood-covered hands on his thighs, seemingly lost in thought or memory. "Ten. Years."

Dorean blinked, and then wondered why he was not unnerved or afraid. The man was clearly of unstable mind, and only earlier that day had snuck up on them and grabbed Imoen by her throat for no apparent reason.

And why is she not afraid of him either?

"Your wound," said Xzar softly and abruptly, turning back to Dorean. "I want to see it."

Montaron, moving only his eyes, paused in his whetting to look at them. Dorean hesitated for a long moment before he slowly unwinded the bandage around his head. He winced as the final layer peeled off his skin.

"Hmm," said Xzar. He inched closer towards Dorean, leaning in to examine the wound while keeping his own hands away from it.

"How bad is it?" asked Dorean.

"Worse than you said."

"'Nother inch to the right, and ye'd be dead," Montaron commented.

Xzar leaned back, looking at the bloody state of the removed bandages, and then at the dwarf's face. "It hurts. Doesn't it?"

Dorean did not answer. He returned Xzar's gaze. A smile came to the wizard, spreading very slowly across his face.

"You lied to her."

There was silence broken only by the fire. "Why did you?" Xzar finally asked, his green eyes staring into Dorean's gray.

Dorean took a few moments, unblinking and unchanging in expression, before he answered.

"I do not want her to worry about me."

Xzar's smile faded as slowly as it formed. He tilted his head to the side and glanced at the sleeping girl next to Dorean.

Then he silently reached into his robes and removed a vial which Dorean recognized as a healing potion.

As Xzar removed the stopper and leaned forward with the vial, Dorean jerked back suddenly, his left hand closing around the hilt of his belt knife.

"Jus' let him," said Montaron, returning to his whetting. "I could smell it from 'ere."

It took Dorean over ten seconds to release his knife.

If they want to kill me, I'd already be dead. Also, they wouldn't need to waste any poison. I'm not that hard a target, he added as a bitter afterthought.

Xzar quietly poured the liquid onto the wound. Dorean closed his eyes and resisted flinching as he felt the tear in his skin and flesh close up. When he opened them, the wizard wordlessly handed him the vial, now smeared with rabbit-blood, then returned to his rock and resumed skinning the carcass.

Dorean watched him for a moment with abject curiosity before lifting the vial to his lips and draining it in one gulp.

Huh. Tastes different from the ones in the clinic.

He wiped his beard on his sleeve and then placed the vial on the ground in front of him.

"Get some rest," Montaron ordered, his voice calm and stoic. "We move in four hours."

I suppose he's our leader now, Dorean thought, glancing at the halfling. For the moment.

As he tossed a twig onto the fire, the dwarf felt his eye-lids grow heavy and a feeling of drowsiness came upon him.

His head drooped, and his eyes immediately went to the vial. Neither Xzar nor Montaron moved or looked at him.

He staggered groggily to his feet and turned towards Montaron, pulling his knife from its belt-sheath. The halfling froze with the whetstone and knife in his hands, eyes widening in surprise.

Dorean managed to take one step towards him before his eye-lids slammed shut and he collapsed face-first into the grass.

..

He was standing before the front entrance of Candlekeep. The walls were unmanned and the gates closed and barred. There was no sign of movement or life that Dorean could see or hear, not even a bird or insect.

He stayed where he was, vaguely noticing that his weapons, armour and belongings were all gone, looking up at the castle beyond the barricades. Except for a slight breeze, there was nothing else, not even stars in the night sky.

He then heard a fluttering of clothing and turned to his right.

Gorion stood beside him, dressed in worn, tattered robes of dull gray. His gaze was turned upward toward Candlekeep, as Dorean's had been.

Dorean froze, staring up at the man. There was no mistaking him, yet he now appeared to be shrouded in shadow. The dwarf quietly blinked as the edges of Gorion's body seemed to shift in and out of focus.

"Am I dead?"he asked, his voice soft and low.

Gorion turned slowly to face him and smiled. It was the same warm, gentle smile he always wore, only now distorted by his shadowy form. Dorean felt an ache grow in his chest.

"No, child. You are not," said the wizard gently.

The dwarf closed his eyes, breathed in and out, then opened them.

"And Imoen? Is she okay?"

Gorion's smile widened slightly, the corners of his lips curling further upwards. "She is. What you were given was made to induce sleep, not death."

Dorean lowered his head and nodded, letting out a bitter and drawn-out sigh. "Wait until we're close to the inn and then rob us."

After a moment, he looked back to Gorion. "So this is only a dream. None of it is real." He turned back to Candlekeep, and both men stood quietly, looking at the desolate fortress.

Gorion placed a hand on Dorean's shoulder. It felt cold, even more so than Xzar's.

"Come, child."

Dorean hesitated and then slowly turned around, a feeling of dread crawling over him as he prepared to face the causeway once again.

Instead, he found himself at the edge of the clearing in Lion's Way. Gorion turned to him and beckoned for him to follow. The dwarf stood very still, looking up at the weak and shadowy visage of the wizard's face, before following him. The old man waited for Dorean to move up and then walked beside him, matching his slow pace.

As they approached the centre of the clearing, figures appeared out of the darkness, weaving themselves into shape.

Another Gorion, this one dressed in his familiar blue robes, stood with his back to them, facing the ambushers. Next to him another Dorean with crossbow in hand.

The ache in Dorean's chest was replaced by bleak emptiness. He looked up at the gray-robed Gorion beside him. The man met his gaze, and kneeled down while facing their counterparts, placing a hand on Dorean's shoulder.

Together they watched the scene play out. Ignoring the ogres exploding, Dorean watched his earlier-self attempt to take a shot before being brought to the ground by the fire arrow, and then obeying Gorion's order to flee. His eyes followed the dwarf racing for the trees, and narrowed into a contemptuous glare.

"I was useless," he growled, grinding his teeth. "Worse than useless." His face scrunched up as he tightly shut his eyes.

I cannot blame those two if they decided to rob and abandon us. I would have done the same.

The gray-robed Gorion squeezed his shoulder gently, and Dorean opened his eyes.

"Do not blame yourself, child," the wizard said gently. He turned his gaze back to the battle.

The blue-robed Gorion's fireball exploded just as the female cleric finished her hasty protection spell, enveloping the archers in flame. Dorean's expression darkened as he watched them drop their bows and flail in agony. His lips peeled back, exposing his barred teeth.

Yes. Burn, you little shits.

The armoured knight entered Dorean's vision, and the dwarf let out a deep breath before focusing on him.

The blue-robed Gorion's hands moved with astonishing speed, weaving and launching spell after spell. Most of them struck and dissipated against an invisible field around the knight, which rapidly collapsed while he was still fifteen paces from the wizard. Yet he marched on, buffeted by the seemingly non-stop barrage of spells, crossing the distance in mere seconds.

As the blue-robed Gorion leaped backwards and drew his dagger, Dorean looked away. He did not need to see what came next; it had played more than a dozen times over in his mind that day, ever since he had left the clearing with Imoen, Xzar and Montaron.

He heard the slice of the great-sword and the spray of blood and gore, then the thud of Gorion's body hitting the ground. The dwarf then slowly turned his gaze back to the scene.

He lowered his head, gray eyes narrowed and teeth barred, studying every feature of the knight as he stood over Gorion's corpse, armour and sword covered in blood, finally stopping on the man's glowing-gold eyes.

The scene turned hazy, and the shapes unwoven, returning into shadow. Dorean and the gray-robed Gorion stood alone in the clearing once more.

A long moment passed in total silence, with not even a rustle from the trees. Then Gorion slowly turned to Dorean, still kneeling and with his hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Do not blame yourself," he repeated, his voice even softer and gentler than before. Tears filled Dorean's eyes as he gazed into his foster father's.

"Nor should you despair or grieve." He kneeled down so that his faces was level with Dorean's. "You must focus now on protecting yourself and Imoen. That man will never stop hunting you, not until you are dead or in his hands. You cannot allow it to happen."

Dorean blinked slowly, causing tears to flow down his face. He closed his eyes, breathed in and out deeply, then opened them, his expression resolved. "What must I do?"

"For now, continue your course to the Friendly Arm. Meet with my friends. Tell them of what happened to me, and that the same fate almost befell you. Ask for their aid and protection."

The memory of Obe's training session came to Dorean's mind. "And what if they refuse?" he asked dejectedly.

"I doubt they would. But always remember this, child; seek help wherever you can find it," Gorion paused. "You will need all the aid you can against the one looking to take your life."

Dorean paused, looking at the old man's face. "I will," he said softly.

Gorion then drew Dorean into a hug. The dwarf clung to him, burying his face in the man's shoulder as tears flowed from his closed eyes.

The old wizard released the hug, and Dorean held on to him for a moment longer before letting go. Gorion took the dwarf's face in both hands.

"I cannot go with you now. So it is up to you."

Dorean nodded, and Gorion gently used one of his thumbs to wipe away one of the dwarf's tears.

"Remember all that you have seen here, and what I have told you, child. Remember; protect yourself, and protect Imoen. Above all else."

Dorean nodded again, more fiercely this time. "I will, father. I promise."

..

Dorean eyes snapped opened and he gasped in pain as a boot kicked him in the side, rolling him onto his back.

The faces of two men came into view, one 'in front' and one 'behind', both sneering down at him.

"Had a bit too much to drink, didja?" said one. "Explains why ye had ye face in the dirt. Dwarves, always drinkin' 'emselves stupid." He laughed, and Dorean heard the voices of several other men follow suit with varying degrees, a few too loud to be convincing and one in particular nothing more than a nervous giggle.

He must be their leader. He quickly made note of the different voices. Five. No, six.

"Got ourselves a good haul with this 'un," said the other man standing over Dorean. "Dwarves always carry lotta coin wit' them."

Bandits.

Keeping his arms up and to his sides, Dorean slowly sat up, breathing swiftly through his noses as his eyes moved quickly from left to right.

One in front, one behind, two to the left-

He heard a cry and immediately jerked his head around to his right.

Imoen was sitting up, her face scrunched in pain at her arms being wrenched behind her back by a young and nervous-looking bandit. Another bandit, the tallest and biggest of them all, stood in front of the girl, leering down at her.

Panic rising in his gut, Dorean's eyes swept the campsite again. There was no sign of Xzar or Montaron.

The tall bandit's leer widened as he placed a hand on Imoen's chest just below her neck. "Ye're a cute one."

Imoen's foot shot up, and the bandit let out a strangled cry as he lurched backwards clutching his groin. She struggled fiercely against her captor who fought frantically to keep her arms locked in place.

The tall bandit stood up with a growl and backhanded Imoen with enough force to nearly tear her from the young bandit's grip.

Red filled Dorean's vision, and his body moved of its own accord. He had closed half the distance between him and Imoen's assailant with his belt knife already in his hand before a wooden club connected with his head and sent him to the ground.

Feeling blood running down his temple and over his face, the dwarf immediately tried to get back up only to be forced down by a boot on his back. He heard Imoen cry out his name and snarled fiercely, sending a puff of dirt away from his mouth.

"Haw!" laughed the leader, walking up to Dorean. "These two've got some spirit to 'em! Hey, ye okay there, Cliff?"

The big bandit glowered at Imoen, whose gaze was still on her wounded roommate. "I will once I've taught her a lesson in manners."

"Now, now, Cliff, ye know the rules, I get to go first." He grinned down at Dorean. "My, my, you sure got worked up, din't ye?" He looked up at the others. "Think he fancies her?"

Their laughter rang through the campsite, and Dorean gritted his teeth so hard that he tasted blood.

"F-F-Flannery?"

The bandit leader turned to the nervous young man holding Imoen. "Yeah?"

"Y-you said no one would be hurt. You, you promised. You swore to all'a us that no one'll be hurt!"

Silence fell around the campfire as Flannery quietly appraised the youth before smiling jovially. "Course I did, son."

His body quavering with rage and panic, Dorean watched as the man swaggered up to Imoen and leaned in close to her.

"Ye hear that, little miss? We don't wants to hurt no one. Least of all that dwarf'a yers o'er there. So's how abouts you be a good girl an' not put up a fuss?"

Imoen stared up at the man's face, her own now bruised and bleeding from where the big bandit Cliff had struck her, then turned her gaze to where Dorean lay pinned to the ground. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, and Dorean's face fell as he stared back. She then closed her eyes and lowered her head in a single nod.

Flannery smiled widely, his eyes narrowing into slits. "That's a good little miss." He pinched her face, then walked back to and leaned over Dorean.

"The same goes fer you, short-legs. Just sit still, don't try anythin', and we'll let ye go." His smile widened, exposing yellowed teeth. "After we've had our fun, o' course."

Snarling inarticulately, Dorean turned his face into the dirt.

After a moment, as the snickers and laughs of the bandits filled the air around him, the dwarf slowly lifted his head up from the ground to stare at Flannery, his face now absent of all emotion.

The bandit leader's laughter faltered slightly as he looked into Dorean's eyes.

In the centre of two gray irises, black pupils turned bright, shining gold.

Flannery's laugh died along with his smile. He took a step backwards, opened his mouth wide, and screamed.

The bandits all turned to him in shock. Flannery's flesh rapidly began to shrink like an emptying water-skin. The man's eyes remained fixed on Dorean's, his screams growing louder and louder.

The club-wielding bandit standing on Dorean, transfixed with fear and staring at his leader, took his foot off of the dwarf's back.

With a flick of his wrist, Dorean's sleeve-dagger flew into his right hand. As he scrambled to his feet, he drove the blade deep into the bandit's leg and pulled it out with a violent wrench.

Ignoring the screams of his victim behind him, he headed straight for Imoen. Cliff whirled towards him with widened eyes, mouth opening in a cry and reaching for his sword. The blade was halfway out of its scabbard before he pitched forward onto the ground with a throwing dagger in the back of his head.

Dorean's head snapped to the side, as did Imoen's captor who then shrieked in terror at the sight of the wild-haired, green-eyed man standing two paces in front of him. Releasing Imoen, he fell backwards and onto his knees, throwing his skinny arms up in front of him. "No! Please! I surrender! Please!"

Dorean stared at Xzar for one second, then swiftly turned to his left.

Two more!-

Both remaining bandits now lay motionless on the ground. Between them stood Montaron, holding a long, thin dagger in his right hand.

Without saying a word, the halfling strode past Dorean towards the leg-stabbed bandit now lying on the ground clutching his wounded limb. The man's eyes widened upon seeing the approaching halfling. As he opened his mouth to speak, Montaron pushed aside the man's pleading hand with his foot, leaned down and stabbed him in the side of his neck. He then immediately went through the bandit's pockets, ignoring the man's dying gurgle.

Montaron then calmly wiped his blade on the dead man's shirt, put away his dagger, then turned to look at Dorean and Imoen, his expression one of mild boredom.

Dorean looked at him for a moment, blinking blood out of his right eye, then hurried over to Imoen. Her hands immediately went to his face.

"Are you alright?" she cried, her voice high-pitched and sobbing.

Dorean froze in disbelief, staring up at her as she ran her hands over his forehead and temple.

Montaron ignored them, moving over to and searching the bodies of the two bandits he had killed. Xzar stood still and stared quietly at the duo. Without taking his eyes off them, he placed a hand gently on the back of the kneeling bandit's neck. The young man's held-out arms trembled and he lowered his head, mewling feebly at the ground.

"Imoen," said Dorean. The girl ignored him, running her hands over his forehead and temple again. "Imoen, never mind me-"

The girl went very still, staring at the dwarf's temple. "It...it isn't there," she said faintly.

Dorean hesitated, then brought his left hand up diagonally to feel his right temple, his fingers brushing over Imoen's.

His head was still covered in blood, but the wound was gone.

After several seconds, he very slowly lowered his hand, staring blankly up at her. Then he stepped backwards out of her reach and slowly turned around to where Flannery had fallen.

The bandit leader lay flat on his back, his skin stretched to grotesque lengths over his emaciated body. His eyes stared vacantly upwards and unblinking, chest rising and falling very slowly in ragged, wheezing breaths.

Montaron walked over to the man, looked down at him, raised an eyebrow, then leaned over and calmly went through Flannery's pockets. The man's eyes went to the halfling, and his lips moved in an apparent attempt to speak. All that came out was a low, audible croak.

Finding a dirty coin pouch, Montaron stowed it in his robes, stepped over Flannery, then walked over to and picked up Gorion's pack and Winthrop's food-bag.

Slinging both over one shoulder, causing them to bump against his own pack, he then turned to Imoen and wordlessly held out his hand. She stared down at the halfling for a long moment, then hesitantly took it in her own.

Ignoring Dorean's blood in her hand smearing onto his, Montaron looked at her bruised, tear-stained face for a few seconds before turning to the dwarf.

"We'll be down the road. Don't keep us waitin'. An' put out the fire."

He turned away and walked past all of them with Imoen in tow. She looked over her shoulder at Dorean as Montaron pulled her along. The dwarf watched them out of sight.

Once again, there was silence in the campsite, save for the crackling of the fire and the quiet whimpers of the one remaining bandit. Dorean breathed deeply and rubbed his temple again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Xzar looking at him, his eyes once more glinting in the reflected firelight, his expression unreadable.

The dwarf slowly walked over to Flannery. The bandit leader's unblinking, near-vacant eyes widened very slightly. His mouth moved, and again there was naught but a long, drawn-out croak.

Dorean looked down at the man, his expression blank, the thin blade of the sleeve-knife in his right hand slowly dripping blood.

He gently flicked the blood from his weapon and returned it to its place at his wrist, slowly inserting it into his sleeve. The dwarf then removed his gloves, pulling each finger out one-by-one, all the while keeping his eyes on Flannery's. Placing his gloves in his pocket, he then sat down on top of the man, straddling his chest which stopped moving as the bandit leader held his breath.

Dorean then leaned down and placed both hands around Flannery's neck.

The young bandit's whimpers became choked sobs, and large teardrops began running down his face. Xzar's expression, like Dorean's, did not alter in the slightest, and he kept his idle, almost gentle grip on the back of the youth's neck.

Dorean's eyes fixed on his victim, his face devoid of emotion as he slowly increased the pressure on the man's neck.

After about thirty seconds, the light went out of the man's eyes. Dorean held on for several more seconds before releasing him and standing up.

He then wordlessly kicked dirt onto the fire, throwing the campsite into darkness, then slowly walked away in the direction that Montaron and Imoen went.

He glanced at Xzar's captive as he walked past, noting offhandedly that he could not be older than eighteen.

"All yours."

Both men's eyes followed the dwarf out of sight. Then, alone with the wizard and surrounded by the bodies of his fellow bandits, the young man lowered his head, sobbing quietly. His breathing becoming more rapid and his thin chest heaving up and down, he raised his head and looked up.

With his head lowered and shielded from the moonlight, Xzar looked down at the young bandit, his face half-concealed in shadow, and smiled slowly, lips peeling back and exposing two rows of white teeth.