At daylight, I found Thavis seated at a table near the door of the common room. A serving platter heaped with eggs, fresh bread, and the inn's well smoked ham, decorated the table. I placed my back-rack on the floor next to his. There were two service settings, and Thavis was filling one of them with admirable gusto. I took the second chair and attacked the breakfast with equal avidity. Neither of us spared a moment for conversation until every scrap had vanished from the platters.

Thavis, finishing first, though only barely, broke a sunny smile in my direction. "I assume you had but little time in town, what did you make of the Duke's palace?"

I shrugged saying, "You're right. We had barely unpacked in the North Yard before I was sent back out. Something cooked up by Mage Orton that couldn't wait. It seems a well ordered place, I think. You live there normally? I mean when not assigned?"

"It is that," he agreed. "Yes, I have quarters in the family rooms on the second floor- just a small room though. I spend most of my time traveling, so the accommodation suits. If I may ask, what sort of special metals are you seeking atop Mount Esh?"

"Orton said something about magnetic rocks," I invented. "I am to look for any other things as seem unusual while we are there."

This was a likely scenario, as lightning strikes on mountain iron ore often yield mildly magnetic hematite deposits. I didn't want to seem too well informed about the matter. The prevarication still irritated me, but Orton's instructions seemed clear and under the circumstances, reasonable. I would be fishing about and experimenting when we arrived, and didn't want to be closely questioned about my examinations.

Thavis looked steadily at me for a few seconds then sighed. "If you are ready, we can start right away. I have already seen to the bill for our rooms and the meal."

"That was very kind of you."

Thavis grinned. "Orton will pay for it all, in the end. I thought to speed our departure."

We picked up our packs and collected Gort, who still stood outside the Inn's entrance, inert as a cigar store Indian. Then it was off towards Corbell. Thavis proved to be a voluble font of information on our surroundings, and the miles rolled by easily as he pointed out the various peculiarities of the countryside, its history, and the Duke's plans for the future of the fiefdom. His long legged stride set a ground eating pace that pressed me to match, and I had the feeling he was holding back for my comfort, even so.

There was a cocky sense of self-sufficiency about the man, and the ease with which he carried himself across the land gave me to understand why he had been chosen as a court courier. No matter how difficult the way, the trail seemed to lever every step he took, as though it were accommodating him. I found myself happy with his company.

We reached a fork in the lane and took the north-western branch, finally veering away from Corbell. By early evening, the progressively thinning farmland started to run to rocky rills, and the lane took a definite upward grade that caused a slow burn to build in my legs.

"It is not far now to the Mount," noted Thavis, "but better we stop soon; it gets colder as we go up from here, and windy. Wiser to take a little comfort now, to start fresh for the climb ahead."

We found a dry depression between two hills just off the path where the ground was clear and dropped our back-racks. Though the surroundings were sparse, there were some conifers here, enough so that foraging for firewood and burnable cones was not difficult.

I was surprised, once a fire had been struck, to see Thavis produce a small copper device, similar to a Turkish coffee pot. After setting it down on a rock next to the small fire, a familiar aroma soon bloomed as steam poured forth from it. Thavis reached for the contraption and flipped it upside down, then removed it to a cold rock, after which the odor intensified.

Amazed, I asked, "Where did that come from?"

Misunderstanding my question, Thavis gestured to the west. "There is a small stream the other side of the path, over the hill. It's a tributary of the Nolgate River that runs northerly for a few miles further west of here. I got some water there fresh, while you gathered the firewood."

"I mean that smell! What are you cooking?"

"Ah! You probably wouldn't like it. A dry legume as grows wild in the west-most reaches. Roasted and ground, it makes a hot beverage called Traveler's Friend. An acquired taste. You can try some if you like. I take it with a bit of honey."

I almost jumped at the offer. It tasted a bit like a chicory blend, and yes, in the background, an unmistakable essence of caffeine. I could have hugged the man.

"I can brew some fresh in the morning if you would care to traipse over hill and fetch some more water."

While my legs were still sore from the last three days of continuous marches, I was quick to volunteer. I snatched up the flat water skin, and took a bearing from the now moonlit campsite. I headed off towards the lane, across it, and up the hill on the other side. The sound of running water came clear as I breasted the rise, but once there, I threw myself flat, for I was not alone. Below, Burlies silently shuffled about on the sloping stream bank. I counted six of them. I came to my elbows, intending to retreat back down the way I came, when I spied a bright spot on the bank, noting an unusual interest in it by the creatures. Not entirely unusual. I had witnessed this behavior with Chord on the Burlie hunt I had attended for the tower.

Here though, there was no cage, no group of beaters that I could see. There was only the eye-watering hole in the sanded shore, and six crowding Burlies jostling to be first to approach it.

One jet-black specimen, eyes as yellow as candle flames, shrilled and dug its claws into the back of a crowding companion. It tore the shrieking victim up from the ground, and hurled it into the stream. Falling on its knees, it reached out over the circle, and I was chilled to see an enormous red finger, barely able to squeeze through the five inch opening, rise up out of it and touch the out-flung paw. An awful miasma, a day-bright bloom of ichor-green glow engulfed the beast, until it could not be seen for the glare. Suddenly I felt a hand upon my leg, and startled, jumped up with a shout, adrenaline pumping, turning around, but unable to see yet, night-blinded from the sickly display I had been intent on.

A voice came out of the dark.

"I heard noises and when I came, I saw you flat on the hill-top. What..."

My vision started to return, and I saw it was Thavis, crouched just under me below the ridge, not high enough yet to witness the spectacle. Knowing I had exposed myself, I whirled, drawing the Roundel to my left hand and the blade from across my back into my right. Behind, I heard an intake of breath as Thavis rasped his sword from his sheath and joined me on the ridge top.