Two days later, exhausted and covered with small bruises and cuts from rushing across the treacherous terrain, the group stumbled into a farming village. Fog draped the land, even though it was late afternoon. The crops grew brown and limp since the soil of Vaalshimar was poor and full sunlight scarce. At a farmhouse they bought a hot meal and what few meager rations the farm could spare. Zyrella asked the old widow who owned the farm if she knew how they could reach the Farseer.

The woman spat and cursed. "Well, you can find her in the island's center right enough. Head on toward the mountains, two more days of walking, and find the old riverbed. Follow it north and you'll see a canyon that cuts into the mountain and becomes like a tunnel. Somewhere in the dark hollows, her people will find you. Gods rest your souls."

Ohzikar asked, "Are they unfriendly people?"

"If you can rightly call the Arhrhakim people. Not violent mind you, not when they come to us for trade. But trespassers aren't welcomed."

"What sort of people are they?" Zyrella asked.

"Don't rightly know. They come at night wearing hooded cloaks. Their voices are nearly growls and their eyes glow like those of a wolf. Fur on their hands, too. I can tell you no more than that."

They thanked the old woman and marched on with dampened spirits.

* * *

Adynarh and his warriors caught up with them in the canyon as they neared the tunnel. Jaska had observed their pursuers in the Shadowland while Zyrella rested. Once, he had spotted Adynarh there at a distance, but the palymfar commander had fled rather than confront Jaska. He feared what Adynarh's survival meant for Tieros.

The jagged canyon walls closed in and cloaked them in forbidding shadows. What lay in the darkness ahead, they couldn't say. A magic barrier blocked scrying attempts within the hollows of the mountain.

A palymfar arrow hummed through the sky, struck a rock, and skittered across the ground ahead. The group scattered and broke into a zigzagging sprint to avoid arrow fire. The soldiers continued to loose arrows while more than thirty palymfar charged ahead. Ohzikar ran behind Zyrella to shield her, or to pick her up if she fell. The palymfar closed to within fifty yards. Total darkness lay just as close ahead.

Suddenly, Ohzikar grunted and tumbled to the ground, kicking up dust and rocks.

Zyrella paused. "Ohzi!"

Jaska shoved her on. "Go! I've got him."

Bakulus and Caracyn hastily fired two arrows at the oncoming palymfar then flanked the priestess. Jaska lifted Ohzikar to his feet. An arrow had pierced the rim of the shield strapped on his back and had dug into his flesh.

"I'm all right," the templar said. "It's not deep."

As they ran into the tunnel, Jaska activated his darksight and spotted the Arhrhakim. At least fifty tall, broad-shouldered warriors in grey cloaks and armed with long spears and composite short bows lined the walls ahead. Another twenty stood in the canyon's center. Blindly Zyrella and the others ran on until Jaska halted them. He trusted that their pursuers would see the Arhrhakim and pause as well.

"We come in peace!" Jaska called out.

A warrior nearly seven feet tall, though only a few inches taller than the others, stepped forward. His voice was like a growl, his speech archaic and guttural. "You bring evil, Slayer, but we shall take you and your comrades to the Farseer nevertheless."

Having stopped as well, Adynarh shouted: "We have no quarrel with you! We ask only that we may pursue our enemies!"

"Unless you are fleet of foot," replied the warrior, "you will die for trespassing here."

His comrades unleashed a barrage of arrows. Six palymfar fell instantly. Seven more died on their way out.

"Give our guests light," the tall warrior said.

A dozen lanterns sprang to life in the warriors' hands. The light revealed more about them. Fur did cover their hands, and a hint of muzzle was visible within their large hoods. A golden ankh with a crimson eye at the center hung from the large warrior's neck, which was bound by a golden torque. "I am Hyrkas," he said. "See to your friend, Jaska Bavadi."

Ohzikar knelt and Jaska jerked shield and arrow away at once. Zyrella bound the half-inch deep wound. Caracyn and Bakulus carried Ohzikar's gear.

"Follow," Hyrkas said.

On tired legs they traveled deep into the mountain. The tall warriors made no sound except the occasional rustling of a cloak. A glow grew within the tunnel ahead, heralding a series of hanging oil lamps. A wall of iron bars with a central gate blocked access to the cavern beyond. There lay the fabulous city of Arhrha.

Two massive, spear-wielding warriors flanked the gate. Neither wore cloak nor hood, only a simple loincloth. In general, they resembled a melding of humans and jackals. Rippled muscles lay beneath charcoal fur. Luminescent eyes flickered above their muzzles. Tall, triangular ears rose from their skulls. Their hands and feet appeared human except for the padding on their palms.

Hyrkas ushered them forward. "Enough gawking."

The guardians' eyes tracked them through the gate. Bakulus and Caracyn stared ahead in quiet wonder. Ohzikar shivered, feeling as if he were going into an ancient tomb and seeing things long buried and not meant for the light of day. Zyrella took it all in with curiosity and interest. Jaska was unaffected. He memorized details and analyzed threats. Wonder and curiosity could arise later when he had time for contemplation.

The city occupied a giant, dome-shaped cavern. Lanterns burned on terraces and hung from walls and posts. Pathways meandered between fountains, statues, and gardens of strange slate-colored vines with violet flowers. Hieroglyphs in bright greens, reds, and gold decorated the smooth cavern walls along with painted reliefs depicting heroic scenes. Five balcony levels rounded the inside of the dome with passageways that led deeper within. Arhrhakim men, women, and children bustled throughout the city. Merchant stalls sat around the bottom edge. The scents of strange oils, sweet vine blossoms, and roasted mushrooms scented the air.

Both male and female Arhrhakim wore white linen kilts. The men went topless, and the women wore simple bands of linen that wrapped across their breasts. A few wore jewelry with rubies and emeralds.

"Stay together," Hyrkas said, "and speak to no one. You are the first humans allowed here within my lifetime."

The Arhrhakim ceased their bustling and stared at the intruders. As the column of warriors and foreigners marched through their winding streets, they backed away to let them pass. Eventually murmurs and whispers spread through the crowd. Most seemed amazed, but some glared in hostility. Ohzikar and Zyrella tried not to meet such gazes, not wanting to antagonize anyone, but Jaska was unfazed.

When they reached the opposite end of the dome, all but twelve of the Arhrhakim warriors broke away. They entered a small, guarded chamber and Hyrkas said to them: "You must surrender your weapons."

"And if we don't?" Ohzikar asked.

"You will not proceed any further. If we had wished to harm you, we would have done so long before now."

One of the guards stepped forward and held out his hands. Zyrella surrendered her staff and a dagger. Ohzikar hesitated but relinquished his weapons when Jaska set his saber and bagh nakh on the floor.

"Thank you for cooperating," Hyrkas said.

Deeper within the mountain they went, climbing stairs and ascending upward-sloping passages. Mythic scenes and hieroglyphics continued to decorate the walls but the colors faded. Some scenes bore cracks and scuffing. A few crumbling sections showed recent patches.

"These must be over a thousand years old," Zyrella murmured.

"Three," Hyrkas replied curtly. "We are an ancient people."

They came to an arched door of solid stone with complex sigils carved into it. Hyrkas placed his hands within two large triangles to either side and spoke a guttural command in his native language. The doors inched open with a grating, scuffing noise. The air that washed over them smelled like night-blooming jasmine and reminded Jaska of the Palace of the Hmyr in Kabulsek.

Hyrkas folded his hands together and bowed his head before walking through the archway. Those Arhrhakim beside him did the same. Zyrella and Ohzikar stepped forward and repeated the gestures. Since the Arhrhakim seemed pleased by this, Jaska and the twins followed suit.

Hyrkas guided them into a chamber lit by violet-hued luminescence within a large pool at the back. The gurgling of bubbles rising from the pool's bottom echoed through the chamber. The jasmine scent hung within a slight, wavering haze. Breathing proved difficult, and everyone except Zyrella, who was used to the mind-altering effects of laurentha leaves, began to feel light-headed and suffered from mild vertigo. Even the Arhrhakim appeared hazy-eyed and sluggish.

"You have made it at last," said a wheezing voice.

From the shadows emerged a female Arhrhakim with a stooped back and hunched shoulders. She was short and plump with large, sagging breasts and wide hips. The hem of her black robe rustled as it drug across the red flagstones. The black wool offset solid white fur that was visible only on her hands and on her face beneath the hood. A black scarf circled her head and covered her eyes, though the lack of sight did not seem to affect her. She wore bracelets and a torque of red gold, as if blood stained the metal. The Arhrhakim kowtowed. Jaska and the others did the same.

"Rise, my loyal servants and honored guests." They stood on weak, shaking legs. "Who has sent you here to me?"

"The White Tigress," Jaska answered.

The withered lips along her muzzle curled into a wicked smile. "I knew, of course. But I must ask, eh?"

The Farseer beckoned them to follow her and dismissed all but Hyrkas and two other guards. Around the dark pool she led them to a doorway hidden by an outcrop. Within a smaller chamber, eight alcoves stood along the wall and a low marble table like an altar sat in the middle. On the table were goblets, pitchers, and a plate of hard biscuits.

The Farseer invited them to kneel with her. "Drink," she said, filling their goblets, "and you shall recover strength. This water restores those who have good intentions. It will also help you combat the pool's gasses. I swear that no harm shall come to you from drinking this water unless you intend to harm me. I owe the White Tigress a favor and that favor I shall repay."

"Do you know what has happened to her?" Zyrella asked.

"Yes, and I also know that Salahn grows in power using the texts of Ylarras Kalazaar. In time he will dominate the Shadowland."

"How long?" Jaska asked.

"A year, perhaps two."

Zyrella drank first. As the cool water passed down her throat, fatigue fled from her body. She felt as if she had slept for a full night. Unfortunately, she needed far more than that. She smiled and let out a contented sigh. The others drank, skeptical Ohzikar last.

The Farseer motioned toward the biscuits. "Eat. You must be starved. There is nothing special about them. They are meager, but if you eat too much the gasses will make you sick."

"Thank you," Zyrella said. "We haven't eaten today. We spent all our time fleeing palymfar."

"I know this," the Farseer said. "It was a test for you to make it here on your own, without our help." Zyrella exchanged a nervous glance with Ohzikar. The Farseer laughed. "Little worry, children, in most skeins of the future you made it here."

"The Tigress said you could tell me where I must go from here," Jaska said, eager to get on to business. "How can I defeat Salahn?"

The Farseer tilted her head toward him. "Little bothers you, Slayer. You are not frightened by me at all."

"The Tigress freed me. If she said to come here, why should I fear you?"

"Ah. True enough and very wise. I can help you against Salahn, though not directly. No longer can mortal weapons slay the Grandmaster. Only sorcery powered by the blood of many, or the hand of a greater deity." Her voice dropped to a sibilant whisper. "Or white-steel…"

"I have never heard of such a metal."

"The ancient Eirsenda knew it and could forge weapons from it. Such weapons rest in the vault of the Keeper of Swords within the Temple of Avida."

"But the temple is mere legend," Zyrella said.

The Farseer shook her head. "The temple exists, and it lies in the northeast desert, though I cannot say precisely where. When you find the right location, it will become visible beneath the light of Avida."

"And once we find it?" Jaska said.

"You must ask the Keeper of Swords for a blade to use against Salahn."

"The Keepers are real?" Ohzikar asked.

"Yes, yes. I even saw one in my youth."

Jaska said, "And this Keeper will grant what I ask of him?"

"In some of the few skeins of the future where you reach the temple, that is the case, but those are not many, three out of the hundreds I observed. Truthfully, you have little hope for success."

"That's comforting," Ohzikar mumbled.

"Yes," the Farseer said. "But it could be worse. You could have no hope at all."

Jaska devoured three biscuits and drained another goblet of water. "What other help can you give us?"

"Knowledge of your enemy."

"I know Salahn well enough."

"How he fights, I am sure," the Farseer said, "though the man you knew wields far more power now. You know nothing of the real man, of how he came to be who he is, of what motivates him, why he has such ambitions. You must know your enemy to conquer him."

"What price is this knowledge?"

"You read the present as well as I read the future, Jaska Bavadi. The price of knowing more about Salahn could be high. It could cost your life and soul, my own and those of your friends as well."

"I will not risk a price beyond myself."

"That is not your decision," Zyrella said. "Ohzikar and I have as much stake in this as you do."

Bakulus held his fist over his heart. "And we will do whatever you ask, Kharos."

Caracyn mirrored his brother's gesture. "We serve you as the prophecy said we should, in whatever capacity is necessary."

Jaska scowled but didn't argue. "Exactly what sort of risk are you talking about, Farseer?"

"Your friends must occupy the alcoves you see here. They will be suspended within them, their life-forces connected to yours and mine. They will give their strength to aid us in the Shadowland, and we may need it. Also, if I get lost in the shadows or near death, then their lives will be forfeit to save mine."

Jaska shook his head and said with disdain, "I cannot accept this. You risk little for yourself and everything with my comrades."

"No, I risk much more." She stood and swept her hands across her robes, smoothing out the creases. "No other Farseer can take my place. I am the only one remaining to the Arhrhakim, and I am all that we have had for nine hundred years. To risk myself at all is a testament to the debt I owe the Tigress."

Jaska turned to Zyrella. "I don't like this."

"I understand, Jaska, but she's important to her people, and we desperately need information."

"We now have knowledge of the Temple of Avida and this Keeper of Swords."

"But we don't know our enemy, what he really wants, plans, and thinks. And you need to know, to understand why he did to you what he did. Otherwise, you will never recover. Besides, she wouldn't waste our time with this if she didn't think it important enough. It is a danger to her after all."

"I will never be whole, regardless of what I see in my past or his." Jaska walked to the nearest alcove, which was decorated with a few small runes. "I am weighted by the past."

"Like the White Tigress is now," the Farseer said. "Many chains bind you, but your Grandmaster bears chains of his own."

Jaska spun. "If you know, why not simply tell us?"

"You must see for yourself to understand. And you need to see what he has done recently to know what actions he will take in the future. The latter is the dangerous part, for he may notice and have the capability to pursue us."

Jaska dreaded going near Salahn. He wasn't ready for a confrontation yet. However, he refused to let fear bind him. "Fine, we shall go and see his past, but be certain that if you harm any of my comrades, I shall return and deal with you."

The Farseer tilted her head toward Jaska and said nothing for several moments. Her lips tightened along with her posture. "I will accept that as fair."

Zyrella broke the tension. "You travel the Shadowland to see the past and the future? I didn't know that was possible."

The Farseer eased her posture. "Indeed it is. The Shadowland goes out into other dimensions and times, allowing travel to many places, though only in spirit. The future offers many possible directions but the past we know from our present has only one path leading back. That is the path Jaska and I shall take."

"If Salahn threatens the Shadowland, then you are threatened as well," Zyrella said.

"That is true. If he conquers it, I must avoid him, make a deal with him, or not go at all. And I will not make a deal with such as him."

Ohzikar finished his sixth and final biscuit. "If loss of the Shadowland affects you so much, Farseer, then why not commit your people to helping us?"

"My people have dwindled, and so few of them are left that I will not part with a single one even if it means the loss of my farseeing."

"Pardon me, Farseer," Caracyn said, "but if you have sight of the future, how have your people dwindled? Why do you hide within this mountain?"

"A good and brave question. The answer, of course, is that my knowledge has guided my people."

"We would be lost entirely without the Farseer," Hyrkas said. "Have you seen any other races that are not human? The Eirsenda once lived beside us, and they are long gone, not saved even by their tremendous knowledge. We are fortunate not to have joined them."

"But Salahn, if he's not stopped, will conquer you eventually," Jaska said. "This island is strategic, regardless of its terrain. Hmyr Karphon will want to build a port here eventually."

"No,” said the Farseer, “we shall be safe from them here. We will eke out our living and decrease naturally."

"It is the spirit of your people that is dying," Zyrella said. "By continuing to retreat the spirit dies and with it the flesh."

The Farseer almost growled. "We will live as we wish to live! My people are precious to me and I will spare none." She folded her arms and slid her hands into her sleeves. "Now that you have eaten, you should rest. If you will trust me, I will briefly encase you within a spell of sleep worth many hours more than a single night of rest. It will also heal Ohzikar's wound."

After some debate, they agreed to this. The Farseer had them stand in the alcoves, arranging each to a particular spot. She chanted, and with the somnolence already brought on by the gasses within the chamber, they swiftly and comfortably fell asleep, their bodies held erect by the magic of the alcoves.