Feradnor's path to the Odekan Highlands wasn't what he had hoped, but wasn't quite what he feared, either. Traversing the winding mountain paths in the dead of winter was among the most harrowing experiences any would have dwelling in the eastern portions of the Methrangian Empire. Tales of people slipping off the narrow roads on those steep rocky slopes to gruesome deaths were all too common. As a high-ranking lord tasked with administrative matters for several years, he knew all too well that these stories weren't the fevered imagination of some drunken tavern dwellers.

His own journey, led by a Vedous guide he hired at Warden Seraka's urging, was informed by his knowledge and fear. The guide, named Drogef Iskana, was an imposing member of his race, standing the better part of seven feet tall and muscular. He also said little. In fact, other than perfunctory salutations for morning and evening, he didn't say much at all. He simply provided a quiet example of when and how to step around treacherous obstacles on their path.

After four days of near total silence, Feradnor decided to try to push Drogef to at least engage somewhat as they sat around a fire in a small cave eating some salted meats and brutally hard bread.

"Drogef, I meant to ask you, where are you from originally?" the former lord inquired, his voice echoing slightly in high ceilings of the cave.

"North," the hulking Vedous responded, chewing the meat. "As far as north goes. Almost Bohruum."

"So, this must not really bother you much? This weather?" Feradnor coughed, the frigid cold air piercing his lungs.

Taking another bite, Drogef tersely answered, "No."

"I've never been up there myself," Feradnor said, trying to continue the conversation, even though this wasn't entirely true. He had been on a peace mission once to Bohruum, but his guide needn't know that detail.

"You're a lord. Why would you?" Drogef responded, his already narrow eyes squinting, almost totally obscured by his heavy dark eyebrows.

Feradnor gasped and clenched his hands into the heavy furs he wore.

"I..."

"Warden Seraka told me who you were, yahno?" Drogef spoke over Feradnor while still chewing his food.

"He wasn't supposed to tell you who I was," Feradnor grumbled.

"Well, he did," Drogef formed the slightest trace of a smirk and winked. "He trusts me."

"I do hope that such a level of trust is well-founded," Feradnor laughed. Drogef scowled at the jape. "I'm trying to reach my wife and children, alive."

Drogef swallowed his meat in a gulp so forced that it sounded painful. He then guzzled water from a leather bag, all while keeping his narrow olive eyes on Feradnor.

"You'll get there," Drogef said. "Three more days. Now, get some rest."

While he tried to sleep that night in the cave by the crackling fire, Feradnor rubbed the burned off nubs of what had been fingers on his left hand. He couldn't believe he had sent so many to their deaths and yet he was the sole survivor of that calamity. The injustice of it.

"I did not intend for your survival," he heard Forynda's voice.

That precluded any delusions he had that the strange wobble of luck that saved him was part of a predetermined angelic plan. Yet, the High Angel also promised that once he proved himself she would see him again. Had she glimpsed nothing in his future, she would have killed him just the same as she easily vaporized more than one million that day.

She must've seen something for me, he told himself. Something. Getting so lucky can't have been a pure accident.

The next day, they started the gradual meandering descent from the mountain peaks and toward the Odekan Highlands. Were the conditions clearer, he would've been able to see them at a distance from Mount Qolvas, but a persistent haze blanketed the land.

"These are hard miles," Drogef rumbled as he pointed down the parts of the path that were visible. It wound circuitously through the mountains below, carved out from wherever it had been possible to do so some centuries ago. "Keep one hand on the rock to your left."

"I will," Feradnor weakly acknowledged.

Drogef looked him in the eyes, his brow furrowed.

"I want you to understand. If you are careless, you will die," he brusquely emphasized. As if summoned by the Vedous guide himself, a screeching stiff wind battered Feradnor, causing him to lose his footing on the wider portion of the path they had stopped upon. "Hard miles."

"Thank you, Drogef," Feradnor mumbled and shifted his feet on the icy road closer to the interior edge. With what remained of his left hand, he tried grasping the rough edges of the mountain, but it was almost pointless without his fingers. "Let's keep going."

On the second day of that descent, the weather worsened with a heavier snowfall. Drogef cheered the development, however.

"It's better," he said, stomping his feet on the ground in snow halfway up his knee. With the deepening cold, however, his breath hung in the air interminably. "Stay warm."

The following day, during a blessed stretch of clearer and less frigid weather, a series of moving shadows crept up from behind. Feradnor braced himself. He then turned, expecting to see something right behind him. There was nothing.

"Above," Drogef said just above a whisper.

Feradnor craned his neck to see a grouping of five massive birds flying overhead some hundreds of feet in the air. With jagged red and white patterns in their wings, they were a beautiful sight, one of the few on this dreary journey so far.

"Nelkroks," Drogef said. "Stay still until they pass."

"Do... do they attack?" Feradnor asked.

"If you make a mistake, yes," Drogef answered.

They circled above for minute after minute, cawing at one another with echoing screeches that rattled in Feradnor's ears. He could even feel the vibrations from these deafening calls in the mountain's rock as he held on. While observing them continuing to circle, Feradnor glimpsed their talons as they glinted in the sunlight. He shuddered imagining what would become of his body if they descended upon him.

Finally, after a brief scuffle between two of the birds, the flock departed.

"Onward," Drogef commanded.

Near the end of the third day of the descent, the Odekan Highlands were in sight. The treacherous mountain road transformed into a flat path across the rocky plateau. Feradnor even caught a glimpse of the first signs of other people he had seen in over a week with a small caravan of traders heading south in the distance.

Drogef slapped Feradnor on the back so harshly that it still stung even through his heavy clothes.

"You'll be with your family tomorrow morning," the Vedous guide proudly declared.

"Forynda willing," Feradnor smiled, still smarting from the congratulatory strike to his back. "Thank you for all that you've done."

"No need for thanks. I was paid well for this," Drogef formed the slightest of smirks and trudged forward.

Paid or not, job well done, Feradnor mused. Very well done.

The village of Odekan, the eponymous settlement that lay atop the Odekan highlands, wasn't a dense municipality. Rather than being a tightly packed and walled city, it was spread out over the rocky terrain around the series of ponds dotting the highlands. There were no large throngs of citizens reveling in the streets or gathered around central marketplaces. Odekan wasn't such a place. No, it was strange and solitary, despite housing the better part of thirty thousand people across the highlands.

Amidst the desolate sprawl, Drogef knew where to guide the former lord. As Feradnor understood it, Drogef was frequently employed for these sorts of missions and had relationships he could rely upon in this strange land of outcasts. The guide moved adeptly through the clusters of mud brick dwellings and the few sturdier structures to the one thing that resembled a proper seat of governance. It was a dark gray cubic structure, bearing numerous seals on its front arranged in patterns of five. Feradnor recognized two Vedous symbols for nearby clans as well as one Caylanchan emblem, but the rest eluded him.

"I must speak to Mayor Vatho," Drogef asked, bowing to the Caylanchan guards who stood on either side of the closed door. "I bring a friend of our esteemed guests."

The Caylanchan guard on the right, his bright blue skin and yellow eyes barely visible above the excessive fur wraps he wore, nodded and opened the door to allow Drogef and Feradnor to enter. The other guard paid no attention to either of them. Once inside, they were showed to the simple meeting room with a round stone table at its center with roaring fires on either side. Shortly thereafter, a tall and ragged Caylanchan man who walked with a limp came in and took a seat at the north end of the table.

"Please, my friends," he motioned to Drogef and Feradnor to have them take seats around the table. The stone blocks were oddly comfortable, if only because they were near the lovely warmth of the great blazes. "My good friend, Drogef, I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon! And your companion here, he doesn't look like someone cut out for the journey in this weather."

"I managed," Feradnor smiled.

"Warden Seraka sent me here because this man has business with the refugees he sent your way not long ago," Drogef explained.

Vatho glanced at Feradnor and nodded.

"The widow of Lord Feradnor and her children, yes. They're quite safe, I assure both of you," he proudly declared in his near lyrical voice.

"As it turns out, she's not a widow," Drogef formed a slight smirk and nodded toward Feradnor.

The smile dropped from Vatho's face and his yellow eyes bulged at the former lord.

"That's impossible. You can't be," the mayor gasped. "Every single person in Zarmand was killed. Everyone knows this."

"All except one," Feradnor said mournfully. "The strangest consequence of fate that I, of all people there, would've been the one to survive. The High Angel told me herself she didn't mean to spare me, but then she decided to."

Vatho blinked incredulously and pinched his own cheek hard.

"No, this isn't just some crazy dream brought about by tainted liquor," the mayor grumbled, his wrinkled and dull blue skin sagging. "There are people, even people here, who will still want you dead."

"I understand," Feradnor acknowledged. "I first just want to see my wife and children and then I would like to speak to the community here before I impose myself upon you. If you don't feel that it's worth having me around, then..."

"Where do your allegiances lie now? Forgive me, my friend, but your record isn't one that I can easily overlook. At least two betrayals," Vatho laughed.

Feradnor closed his eyes and sighed in grief. It was absolutely true what Vatho said. And the consequences of both of those betrayals had been dire, first enabling Duronaht's rebellion against Forynda and then the revolt by Zarmand and others against Duronaht. The smell of that woman's charred sliver of a corpse and her lifeless eyes staring at him both manifested in his mind at Vatho's prodding.

"The High Angel and the High Angel alone," he declared in a swelling voice. "I have promised myself ever since experiencing her mercy toward me that I will see her will done as long as my heart beats."

Vatho had no response at first and then nodded along and smiled.

"A good answer. We're of a like mind, then. I've never supported Duronaht. I knew his father only a little, but Emperor Covifaht was a great man. That little shit never had my allegiance the moment I knew he killed the Emperor," Vatho scoffed and then spat on the floor. "However you came to where you are now, I'm willing to have you as an ally and a friend. Those are different things, you understand."

"A subtlety of politics some don't appreciate," Feradnor chuckled.

Drogef sighed and folded his arms.

"May I leave? I have more work to do for Warden Seraka," the guide said.

"Ah, yes!" Vatho cheered. He tossed a pouch of coins toward Drogef, which the guide easily caught in his right hand. "And give my regards to the Warden."

Drogef rose, smiled at both men, and left without saying anything more.

"I've been working with Warden Seraka and others here to start a revolt against Duronaht here in the east," Vatho continued to explain, his expression turning far more serious. "Your arrival is providential."

"I hope it can be so," Feradnor answered.

Vatho smiled and rose from his seat.

"Come! Let's see your family! It'll be your most treasured moment in your life, I suspect," the mayor said, putting his arm around Feradnor as he came near.

"I can't imagine anything better after what I've seen," Feradnor cried even thinking about it. "A treasured moment, yes."

They stood outside the little stone house after Vatho knocked on the rough wooden door. Feradnor's heart fluttered. He could scarcely believe that he was finally here. His face contorted between smiles and forcing back tears when he heard footsteps approaching the door. He recognized the cadence.

As the door opened, his wife, his dear Etylsa, stepped forward. Her thin face, bracketed by ravishing auburn hair, froze. Her green eyes burst into tears immediately and she lunged forward to embrace him with all her might. His legs almost gave out with the rush of joy he felt. To be in her arms, that firm grasp she always had, again was too much.

"I somehow knew," she said with that charming clipped northern accent. "I knew."

He patted her head with his right hand, relishing being able to hold her again.

"Where are the children?" he weakly asked, still grasping her.

"I sent them to play with some friends earlier," she laughed and cried. "I wish I'd kept them here."

"I'll make it a surprise later," he chuckled and released his embrace so that he could look her in the eyes again. He almost couldn't stand to do so when he did. It seemed like a wonderful dream that would be dashed when he awoke, but it held. Despite all of his trepidations in believing it was real, it was.

"I have so many..." she started.

"Questions," he finished her sentence, causing her to form a tearful smile. "And I do have answers. More than I've ever had before."

At Feradnor's request, Mayor Vatho summoned most of the village elders and other important figures from the area to a gathering in a large terraced meeting area used to discuss matters of great importance. The former lord promised the mayor that he indeed have a message to deliver.

He stood on the lowest level of the venue while the elders gathered on the terraces around him. Despite the weather, he had changed into mostly his old clothes that Etylsa had kept with her because she couldn't stand the thought of symbolically accepting his death. A fortuitous bit of stubbornness on her part.

Once he felt enough had arrived, he began to address them.

"My name is Mecan Feradnor," he announced to almost immediate gasps. "I wish to thank all of you for the hospitality that you have shown my family, even though my own actions didn't command it. Indeed, based on what I did, I was worried how others might have treated them. There is good in all of you and I'll be forever grateful for it."

He paused to gauge the confusion of the crowd. The whispers grew so loud that he could hear much of what they said. Little of it was good.

"I'm the sole survivor of a calamity I helped create. The destruction of Zarmand and all of its inhabitants," he mournfully declared. "The High Angel herself told me that I should've died with the rest. And she was right. I should have. By all logic and morality, it was just. Yet, she showed her mercy and spared me when she found me, alone alive after her righteous judgment."

"She should've killed you!" a young Caylanchan man shouted from the crowd.

"I agree!" Feradnor answered, bouncing animatedly. "Oh, I agree so much. I expected and even wanted her to do so. She didn't. Even after what she had just done, she didn't do it. And I don't believe it's because of any merit I posses. Oh, no. Not at all. It was divine mercy and a judgment that I could right some wrongs."

"After you betrayed her? And then betrayed the prince you betrayed her for?" a middle aged woman near him asked. "What good is your word to anyone?"

Feradnor smiled and removed the glove on his left hand before holding it toward the overcast skies above. The cleanly cut nubs of his fingers would've been obvious even at a distance.

"I carry this reminder with me, what small piece of me was destroyed at Zarmand with the rest. It's a payment in advance of what I expect will ultimately be asked of me," he said. "I don't expect survival. I don't even want it at this point. I want only to serve, to serve the High Angel Forynda. I pledge all that I have to this cause!"

He paused again to gauge the crowd's reaction. This time, even the doubters from earlier were silent for at least a moment.

"You might say to me that I once served Duronaht and Omonrel. Then I served Nethron," he said, just loudly enough so that he was confident all gathered could hear it. "It's true. There's no denying that. What my experience told me was that you couldn't rely on them for anything. This wasn't a fluke. This is who they are. Liars and scoundrels all of them! It's only Forynda who deserves our devotion! It's only Forynda who will bring us an everlasting peace! It's only Forynda who will protect us from these ill-designing souls! Only with Forynda can there be victory!"

Cheers began breaking out across the crowd, even two prior skeptics joining them.

"Hail Forynda!" the crowd began cheering. "Death to the traitors! Forynda over all!" and variations of those themes.

And to think i thought this part would be hard, Feradnor mused. Now comes trying to launch a useful rebellion. No rest for the wicked.