Terror stalks this fateful night

Which is worse: to flee or fight?

Ferrian sat with his back to the wind, huddled with his companions around a tiny campfire that clung bravely to its charred sticks as it was tossed mercilessly by the wind. The fire was for cooking rather than heat; the ground retained the day's warmth long after sunset, although the chilly breeze sweeping down off the mountains was doing much to dissipate that warmth. The air smelled of eucalyptus and rain.

Ferrian looked up at the black sky. "What will we do if it rains?" he asked no one in particular. They had no tents or tarpaulins, only their cloaks and a couple of blankets. They had been forced to leave most of their heavier supplies on Demon Heights to reduce the weight on the raft. Aari had lost all of his supplies, including his weapons.

Grisket glanced at the sky as well, holding on to his hat to keep it from being blown off. Aari's feather was still stuck in the band, quivering as though contemplating taking flight. "Nothing much we can do, lad, except sit here and weather it."

Aari lifted his head and looked as though he was about to say something, then changed his mind and dropped his head back onto his arms. The Angel was sitting on a rock beside Ferrian, hunched over and also facing west in an unsuccessful attempt to reduce the movement of his broken wings. His arms were folded across his knees; his hands clenched into fists and his whole body tensed every time the wind picked up. Ferrian looked at him worriedly. He knew that Aari was suffering from a great deal of pain. The supply of willow bark from the medical satchel had run out several hours ago. Aari had not complained, but his face was pale and tight and he had been uncharacteristically quiet during the journey out of the Barlakk foothills.

In fact, the only one who seemed to be in reasonably good spirits was Grisket. As they travelled, he chatted away casually, even though no one was really listening. Captain Sirannor rarely made idle conversation in any case, he usually only spoke if he had something that was worth saying.

Ferrian hadn't felt much like talking either. The incident on Demon Heights had shaken him, had brought the reality of his situation into sharp focus, and had reminded him that death was a very real possibility for any of them. And despite Sergeant Aari's reassuring words, he couldn't shake the belief that everything that had befallen them in the mountains was his fault.

He drew his knees up, folded his arms across them, and rested his chin on his arms. He was miserable and scared, though he was careful not to show the extent of these feelings to his companions. He had tried, as inconspicuously as possible, to sit and walk slightly apart from them. He didn't want to offend them, but he was terrified of being close to one of them when the magic exploded out of him again. And there was no doubt in his mind that it would happen again. So far, the white light had seemed relatively harmless, but he didn't want to take any chances.

And the most dangerous part of the journey was yet to come.

He brushed all thoughts of sorcerers aside: he didn't want to think about that right now. They would reach the city of Sunsee tomorrow night: there would be plenty of time to dwell on it during tomorrow's journey.

He turned his attention to his companions to distract his thoughts. Captain Sirannor was sitting off to his left with his back against a tree, his long coat flapping in the wind. As Ferrian looked at him, he realised something odd about Sirannor that he was surprised he had never noticed before. The Captain wore the Freeroamer uniform like the others, but it was always covered by an ankle-length, dusty brown coat, although he had pinned his silver Captain's badge to his left sleeve. Ferrian wondered if there was a reason Sirannor didn't want to be seen in Freeroamer colours, or if he simply liked the coat. The Commander didn't seem to have a problem with him wearing it. Ferrian didn't know anything about Sirannor except that he was an ex-Lieutenant from the Darorian Army. Perhaps that had something to do with it, although he couldn't think what.

A sudden noise interrupted Ferrian's thoughts. It came from somewhere out in the forest, disturbingly close: a terrifying, wailing shriek that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and his blood freeze.

They all looked up, startled. "What was that?" Ferrian said, his eyes wide.

The pause that followed was far too long for Ferrian's liking. "A firedog, probably," Sirannor finally replied in a low voice. "They come down out of the mountains in summer."

"It sounded like someone was slaughtering it!" Aari said, looking horrified.

"In all likelihood, they were. Firedogs are notorious for taking unattended sheep. The local farmers sometimes roam these woods at night, hunting them."

Ferrian was glad his shiver was masked by the wind. He wondered what someone could possibly do to an animal to make it scream like that.

"There is no need to be alarmed," Sirannor added, seeing the apprehensive looks on their faces. "Firedogs are large enough to take down a man, but they rarely attack humans, and would certainly not come near a group of them."

Nevertheless, Ferrian adjusted his knife so that it was within easy reach. The howl of the wind suddenly seemed much more unnerving.

"How do you know so much about firedogs?" Aari asked, more to break the anxious silence than out of curiosity.

Sirannor leaned forward slowly, his grey eyes intense. "I used to hunt them," he said quietly, his face shadowed by the long hair whipping around it. "When I was five."

His expression was so grave that for a long moment everyone was silent, staring at him. Then Commander Trice grinned and shortly after, Aari laughed.

Ferrian laughed nervously with him. Sirannor's attempt at humour, to lighten the mood. But there was something in the Captain's thin smile that gave Ferrian the disturbing feeling that it wasn't entirely untrue.

The atmosphere darkened once more, however, when another noise issued from the surrounding trees. It sounded like something crashing through the undergrowth.

To everyone's surprise, Captain Sirannor was on his feet almost at once, his sabre hissing from its scabbard in a flash. Startled, Grisket and Ferrian both reached for their knives.

"What happened to not being alarmed?" Aari said.

"It's not a firedog," Sirannor replied, staring intently in the direction of the noise. "It's someone–"

A man burst through the scrub, running so fast that he tore straight into the middle of their campsite, tripped over a pile of cooking utensils and went sprawling to the ground with an enormous clatter.

Grisket, Ferrian and Aari leapt instantly to their feet. But before anyone could move, the man was up and hurling himself at the nearest person, which happened to be Ferrian.

"Help me!" he gasped. His eyes were huge and wild with terror. "They're after me!"

The man was yanked off him, and Ferrian backed away hurriedly, shaken by what he had seen in his face. The stranger was now flat on his back on the ground with Sirannor's sword at his throat. "Who are you?" the Captain barked.

Commander Trice started across the clearing. "Captain, there's no need to–"

"Commander!" Aari yelled suddenly, his voice edged with fear. They all spun.

A huge black shadow was prowling through the trees, in the same direction from which the stranger had come. The shadow stopped at the edge of the firelight, and they could see its eyes, floating in the darkness like twin lantern lights.

"A Muron!" Aari gasped.

"Two," Sirannor corrected. Ferrian spun to see another of the black creatures standing on the opposite side of the clearing.

He swallowed. He had heard only vague tales of these creatures: nameless, deadly shadows in horror stories. He never believed that they actually existed.

"Give the Human to ussss," the first Muron hissed. The creature's voice sent a shiver through Ferrian like cold iron being drawn down his spine.

"NOOOOO!" the stranger screamed suddenly. "Don't let them take me! Please! You can't let them take me back!"

He was hysterical, almost mad with fear. No one moved or made a sound, except for the stranger, who was crying loudly. A gust of wind gutted the fire, almost extinguishing it. Ferrian felt a sudden surge of horror at the thought of being in total darkness with these things.

Sirannor's sabre was still pressed against the stranger's throat. He exchanged a glance with Commander Trice. "What do you want with this man?" Grisket demanded.

The Muron hissed dangerously. "That isss none of your consssern! Ssstand assside, or you will die!" The Muron on the other side of the clearing shifted slightly, just enough to catch the flickering orange light on its lethal claws.

Silence fell. The air was so tight with tension that it almost hummed. Ferrian and the Freeroamers exchanged glances, each looking to the other for a clue as to what to do next.

Finally, Captain Sirannor stood up, dragging the man to his feet by his collar. Without a word, he walked over to the first Muron and threw the stranger at the creature's feet.

The stranger was stunned into complete silence. Even his whimpering had stopped. He lay on the ground as he had fallen, turned to stone with terror.

Grisket, Ferrian and Aari all stared at Sirannor in disbelief. "You're not just going to let them have him?" Ferrian said, horrified.

The Captain turned to him. "What would you have me do?" he said. "This?" He gestured with his left arm, so casually he could have been handing a drink to a friend, and the Muron who had reached down to pick up the stranger let out a terrible shriek. The hilt of a dagger was protruding from its eye.

The second Muron sprang forward in a black blur, but Sirannor was already there, parrying the blow it aimed at Ferrian.

Ferrian leapt sideways, his heart jumping. The situation had changed so quickly that for a moment he was completely disoriented.

Aari was the first to recover. While the first Muron was preoccupied with the dagger, he snatched a branch from the campfire, and before anyone could yell out a warning, ran forward and thrust the burning stick at one of the Muron's unprotected wings.

The fire ignited quickly with the oil in the skin and flared with a dull whoosh, given strength by the wind. The Muron wrenched the dagger from its eye, only to find that its wing was on fire. It shrieked again and whirled, trying to bat out the flames, but in seconds the fire had engulfed its entire wing, quickly spreading to its shoulders and head. The creature screamed horribly.

Ferrian felt sick as he watched the creature burning, its great wings flapping like a demon's, consumed by roaring fire. Thankfully, the stranger had gathered enough of his wits to crawl out of the way.

Aari picked up a fresh stick and lit it with his own. He tossed it to Commander Trice, and they turned their attention to the other Muron, who was still battling with Sirannor. As fit and experienced as the Captain was, he was grunting and panting with the effort of defending himself. He had managed to slip past its guard several times, but each time his sabre simply clanged off its iron-like scales.

Aari and Grisket circled the fight cautiously, both in a different direction, looking for an opening. However, the Muron had seen what they had done to its companion, and it was prepared. Grisket threw his torch. The Muron folded its wings tightly against its back and ducked. Sirannor took advantage of the distraction and swung his sabre at the Muron's head, but once again, it simply glanced off harmlessly. The Muron snarled, and retaliated with a vicious swipe that opened three gashes in Sirannor's upper arm. The Captain blocked the Muron's second swipe, fighting on as though nothing had happened.

Then yet another cry pierced the night: not one of pain, but of determination and fury. To their surprise, the stranger rushed out of nowhere and hurled himself onto the Muron. The Muron hissed and threw the man off with a flick of its arm, but that split second of distraction was all that Sirannor needed. He rammed the point of his sabre into the creature's eye as deep and as hard as he could, trying to penetrate its brain.

The Muron let out an ear-shattering screech, and slashed furiously with its claws. Sirannor caught another blow across the chest before he managed to leap out of its reach. The Muron scrabbled at the sword sticking out of its head, but its movements were becoming sluggish. It swayed and staggered drunkenly.

Everyone watched breathlessly, waiting for it to fall.

But to their dismay, it did not. Instead, it lunged at Grisket.

It had made a mistake. It had turned its back on Sergeant Aari, who was still holding the burning branch.

Aari seized his chance. He darted forward and set the torch against the Muron's wings. In moments, the creature was ablaze. It let out one final, agonising wail, then stumbled to its knees, collapsed, and was still.

For a long moment, no one moved or spoke, everyone regaining their composure and catching their breath. Ferrian felt his shoulders sag and the breath he had been holding leave his lungs in a rush. He couldn't take his eyes off the fallen Muron: he was half-expecting it to get back up again.

Then the stranger let out a cry: "Behind you!"

Everyone turned, and Ferrian gasped in horror.

The first Muron wasn't dead! Its wings were reduced to smoking skeletons, and one eye was a mass of congealed black blood. It stalked toward them, a hideous silhouette against the backdrop of a burning tree, its shoulders hunched, its lips curled back in a snarl of pure hatred, revealing all of its terrifying teeth.

They all backed away, their faces reflecting shock and dismay as well as the firelight. Its scales must have protected it from the fire! Ferrian thought.

"Anyone got any other ingenious ideas?" Grisket asked.

No one replied. The Muron stepped on the campfire and crushed it into the ground with its taloned foot.

Sirannor held his hand out to Ferrian. "Give me your knife," he panted.

Ferrian did as he was told without question. Sirannor caught Grisket's attention, and made a brief gesture. The Commander nodded almost imperceptibly.

Sirannor lifted Ferrian's knife in both hands and walked purposefully toward the Muron. Ferrian watched him nervously, the knots that had started to unravel in his stomach tightening again. He hoped that the Captain wasn't going to attempt to attack the Muron with only a knife…

Then Ferrian realised that Sirannor was drawing its attention away from the others, turning it in a half-circle so that its blind eye was facing Grisket.

Grisket raised his own knife, took careful aim, and flung it.

The knife wedged in the Muron's damaged eye. It screamed and swung its head toward its attacker. Sirannor leapt at once, plunged his knife into its other eye, and scrambled out of the way as it thrashed wildly. It tore the knives out of its eyes and snarled, black blood oozing thickly down its face. It continued to advance, swinging its head from side to side blindly, searching for its enemies.

"Gods… what does it take to kill these things?" Grisket exclaimed.

"More than we've got," Sirannor answered. "I suggest we run."

It quickly became obvious to the others that there was no other option left to them. So, following the Captain's example, they turned and fled into the forest.

The forest was so dark that it was impossible to make out anything except different shades of black. Ferrian was torn between the desire to run flat out, and his fear of crashing into a tree. He could not see any of his companions, and the wind masked all sound of their movement. He had no idea if the Muron had followed them, but it was blind and flightless, and he didn't think it would be able to find them easily. At the moment, he was more worried about becoming lost. He began to panic.

Thunder rolled across the sky like a gigantic boulder crashing down a mountainside. It was followed a second later by a flash of lightning. In the brief glare, Ferrian caught a glimpse of his companions scattered amongst the trees, frozen in that instant of time like figures on a painting.

He turned in the dark to where he thought he had seen Aari, and could just make out the pale shape of the Angel's bandaged wings. He ran toward them, trying to keep the vision in sight.

He wondered if Angels could see better in the dark than Humans could. He hoped so.

Ferrian could not estimate how long they ran. His sense of time – past and future – had vanished. The burning ache in his legs and his increasingly laboured breaths were the only indications that he was running at all.

And then the rain fell. It poured out of the sky as though a floodgate had opened, drenching him in seconds. He thought he heard a shout from somewhere ahead, but he couldn't make out the words over the storm. Aari swerved suddenly to the left, running away from the wind. Ferrian quickly followed.

Another white flash illuminated the forest, and through a silver sheet of rain, Ferrian saw that the trees ended about fifty yards away. We must be near the highway, he thought, relieved to have some sort of bearing. He also saw Captain Sirannor, who had stopped not far ahead and to his right.

As blackness engulfed the forest once more, he shouted at Aari to turn right. Not knowing whether the Angel heard him or not, he ran in that direction himself.

A dim figure appeared in the gloom, and he stumbled to a halt, gasping for breath. Sirannor was calling out so that the others could follow the sound of his voice. "Who's here?" Sirannor yelled. Ferrian and Aari both spoke their names.

"Commander Trice!" the Captain shouted.

To their relief, an answering shout echoed through the rain. A short time later, they heard the sound of footsteps and two people panting. "I've got the stranger with me," Grisket told them.

Then there was nothing left to do but sit and wait for the darkness and the rain to subside.

"At least there's something to be thankful for," Grisket muttered. "That Muron is more blind than we are."

"Not by much," Aari said gloomily.

A light flared in the darkness, momentarily dazzling them. Captain Sirannor had struck a match. Through the rain that glittered in the spluttering light, Ferrian saw him reach into his coat pocket and take out what looked like a tiny, dark box, with brass hinges on each edge and a little sloping roof on the top. As he watched, the Captain opened a miniature door on the side of the box, and brought the match to it, lighting a tiny wick inside. A glow emanated from within the tinted glass, no brighter than the coals of a fire, yet enough to allow them to make out each other's faces.

"Waterproof lantern," he explained. "Standard army issue. Folds up to fit in a pocket. Not bright enough to be noticeable by anyone unless they're right on top of us." He handed the little lantern to Aari, who inspected it with fascination. Then he turned to look at the wound on his shoulder. He removed his coat carefully.

"Damn," Grisket swore. "All our medical supplies are back at the campsite."

Sirannor touched the wound gingerly, but did not wince. "It's not life-threatening," he said quietly. The blue sleeve of his Freeroamer uniform was dark with blood. He tore away the remnants of the sleeve and then (with Grisket's assistance) tore the black sleeve off as well to use as a makeshift bandage.

"What about your chest?" Grisket asked as he finished tightening the knot.

"Just a scratch," Sirannor said unconcernedly, slipping his coat back on.

They were quiet for a while, listening to the storm and watching the dim flicker of the lantern. Ferrian squinted through the rain streaming down his face at the stranger, who was sitting across from him. The man was huddled into a ball with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, not looking at any of them. Soaked with rain, he looked even more miserable than he had before. He had not made a sound since they had left the clearing.

"Who are you?" Ferrian asked quietly.

The man glanced up nervously. He seemed to have trouble meeting Ferrian's eyes. "M-my name is C-Cimmeran," he whispered.

The other three looked over. "I think now is as good a time as any for an explanation," Grisket said sternly. "What did those Murons want with you?"

Cimmeran looked at him sharply, his eyes growing wide again with fear. "T-to take me b-back!" he stammered.

"Back where?" Ferrian asked.

Cimmeran's breath began coming in quick gasps. A look of anguish came across his face, and he buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

Grisket reached out to put a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder, but Cimmeran immediately flinched away as though Grisket had been about to strike him. The Commander withdrew his hand hastily and lifted it to show he meant no harm. "It's all right lad, no one's going to hurt you. Where were those creatures going to take you?"

"L-Lord Arzath's keep!" Cimmeran choked.

Ferrian and the Freeroamers looked at each other in astonishment. "Lord Arzath?" Aari repeated incredulously, leaning forward. "The sorcerer?"

Cimmeran nodded, but didn't look up. "I'm his s-servant!"

Aari gaped. "So… you escaped from this Lord Arzath, and he sent Murons after you?" he asked, as though he couldn't believe that he had heard correctly the first time.

Cimmeran sobbed again. "Y-yes!"

"This isn't good," Commander Trice muttered darkly, shaking his head and rubbing his beard anxiously. "In fact, it's extremely bad. I'm guessing this Arzath fellow isn't going to be too pleased when he finds out what we've done to his henchmen. Henchcreatures, I should say."

Ferrian had only been half-listening to the conversation. An entirely different thought had occurred to him. "Cimmeran…" he said slowly, "do you know any other sorcerers?"

Cimmeran immediately became defensive. His body tensed and his eyes shifted rapidly from one face to the other. "Why d-do you want to know?" he asked guardedly.

Ferrian hesitated, thinking carefully about what he was about to say. "It's important," he replied finally. "Please answer my question. Do you know any other sorcerers?"

"There ar-aren't any," Cimmeran said.

There was a deep pause. Ferrian looked away through the rain, feeling his soul dissolving.

"Except for L-Lord Re-quar," Cimmeran added. Ferrian looked back quickly.

"This Lord Requar," Grisket interjected. "Is he as evil as your master?"

Cimmeran shook his head and hugged his knees to his chest, rocking backwards and forwards slightly, like a child. "N-no. He was k-kind to me."

Ferrian pushed himself to his knees and shifted forward until he was directly in front of Cimmeran. "Do you know where he is?" he asked.

Cimmeran looked up and met his eyes directly for the first time. "Yes."

Ferrian felt a surge of anticipation rush through him. He grabbed Cimmeran's shoulders. "Where?" he asked breathlessly.

Cimmeran cried out and cringed from Ferrian's touch. "Where?!" Ferrian demanded again, his fingers digging into the man's shoulders. "WHERE IS HE?!" he yelled in frustration, desperate for an answer.

Both Aari and Grisket grabbed Ferrian and pulled him away. "Ferrian, calm down!" Grisket said. He turned to a distraught Cimmeran. "If you know where this sorcerer is, man, tell us!"

Cimmeran's eyes were glittering with tears. "The… the B-Barlakk Mountains!" he cried. "But you can't go there! You can't go there!"

"Why?" Aari asked.

"Because that's where–" he choked on the words, and continued in a whisper: "That's where Arzath lives!"

They all fell silent. Ferrian was breathing rapidly, his heart racing. He could barely feel the rain pouring over him. They had found a sorcerer! There was no need to go to Crystaltina! No need to question the scholars, no need to hunt in the dusty archives for information... For the first time, the possibility of getting rid of the Winter seemed within his grasp. He found that he was shaking with the force of sudden hope rushing through him.

He stood up. "I don't care," he said, with a fierceness that surprised even himself. "That's where I'm going!"