The weeks passed and Aran integrated with Bryn's desperate followers, life was not dissimilar to the past one he had led with Bennett's wild clan. Though if Aran really stopped to analyze his feelings he was indeed a cut above when it came to acts of savagery. These men were not like him, they did not prey on settlements, or those weaker than themselves. They were merely a group of survivors, still fresh, forging a new order and smarting from their recent losses of property and loved ones. They did not possess the hard-edged mentality Aran did, kill or be killed, take or starve, and as the days unfurled the young warrior realized with much resignation it would be most difficult for him to stay amongst these people, well-meaning though they were; this could never be his place.

Jhary remained subdued and resigned, he felt trapped by the demise of his trusty mule, and his inability to face the danger of the outlying lands alone. The bard spent his time hiding behind his craft, a delight to all others, inside he felt crushed. Neither man shared their inner thoughts or reservations with the other. Jhary fuming that Aran could have led him here to this, and had not spoken civilly with him since the day of his angry outburst in the canyon. Conveniently forgetting it was he who willingly sought the protection of the capable warrior in the first place.

As for Aran, he had avoided Jhary largely as well, he had made his point that day, and saw no reason to embellish on it. He was torn with his own issues. To stay and have a brotherhood of sorts, or leave for possibly worse than he had now on the vague hope he may rejoin his clan or another more prosperous and fierce one. It tore at him.

*****

One still gray day it came to Aran as he stood at the open mouth of Bryn's cave, that perhaps he had indeed been looking in all the wrong places for the object of his desire and salvation. He cast his mind back to the beautiful archer and the day of their fateful meeting in her village. The thought surfaced that just perhaps she had merely turned her trail south, as a ruse designed to fool him. Then once in the dunes circled north, and had quite possibly headed to what was left of her village. The idea seemed feasible, with her clansmen dead she really had nowhere to go. A man may have, but a lone, attractive woman? She would have little choice but to lay low and hide. Aran could have kicked himself for not seeing this sooner and this galvanized him from his last few weeks of inactivity. Quietly he prepared to leave.

Aran approached the enigmatic Bryn later that evening as he sat enjoying the simple pleasures of a warm fire, tough meat, and the company of his people. Hardship did not seem to have any outward effect on the ebullient man, perhaps that is why he had been chosen to lead. Bryn welcomed the blond warrior to sit beside him with an expansive gesture. Aran did so happily, sharing what little stringy meat graced the wood platter before him. He was dreading what he must say, but this bland repast laid before him galvanized his resolve. To stay here and live this way with the barest necessities and little hope was not something he could stomach.

Aran sat on his haunches looking sideways at Bryn, he did not intend to get comfortable for this most uncomfortable of speeches. The fire felt good, the sap fizzed from the green branches it was being fed. Every comfort here was scarce, even dry wood.

"What troubles ye my friend?" Bryn asked. He was indeed astute at judging the moods and natures of those that surrounded him.

Aran shot him a look in return through his wild golden mane, his intense green eyes on the dark hirsute man, he grimaced, it was a wry smile yet it was not a smile at all.

"I must leave." There it was said.

Bryn set down the bone he was gnawing on, and sighed. "We all have things we must do." Sounding not at all surprised. He looked across at the golden warrior. "As I knew you would, you are not one of us. Not merely a survivor as we are, no." He shook his shaggy black mane and ran his fingers through his oily, grizzled black beard. "I expected it, but remember you are always welcome by the side of Brother Bryn and those he leads." The offer was genuine and well-meant.

Aran had no words, they would only serve to cheapen the moment. He just nodded and stared into the fire. Part of him was saddened to leave, but the restless warrior in his soul was at last gladdened he had made his intent clear to this beneficent man.

*****

It was far from the most inviting of mornings, the wind howled into the mouth of the cave carrying unwelcome debris into its depths, it would have been all too easy to just remain. However, Aran gathered up his few belongings taking one last look over his shoulder, and plunged into the screaming cold wind towards he knew not what.

The wind was behind his back as he pressed north, he pushed his errant hair under the hood of his cape so he could better see. He felt the comforting weight of his sword slapping against his thigh, he would be ready for whatever came. It would be many days, possibly weeks before he would reach his destination. He thought of Bryn's men he left behind, he wished he could have made their lives better and offered them more hope. However he was but one man, and had little of his own. Only the promise of a lone woman whom he must find if he was ever to return to his people.

Aran was relentless in his pace, he spent most of the day at a punishing jog covering many miles in his effortless lope. It was easy and advisable in this cold. Despite this he still missed his horse, not at all enjoying returning to the old ways of foot travel. He did not pause in his efforts until the light faded. He set camp in a small depression out of the wind against some large upstanding stones. It was the best he could do caught out on the endless cold plains that ran almost featureless in every direction.

He lit a modest fire, finding there was little about to burn for warmth, withdrawing some stringy meat from his pack. It was unappealing fare but he ate it hungrily, soon he would not even have the luxury of this ready-made meal, and the game was very scarce. Aran had not sighted a single living creature all day. Hunting would not be easy in the days to come as he ventured further north, this was an unappealing musing even for one who was fairly adept with a bow. Let those troubles wait until tomorrow he thought, as he bedded down on the hard cold ground beside his dying fire, burying himself under his voluminous rabbit skin cape. Even he as hard and attuned to the elements as he was, felt cold, but he did not complain; it did not merit him any profit by doing so.

*****

He woke, he had heard something, something that was not the sound of nature. Aran sat up, Blacksteel already sliding from its scabbard. He stood alert and intent. There the sound was again that had first awoken him, a stumbling approach of one who took no care in secrecy. He saw the figure now shrouded in the gloom some distance from him, he stood tall and proud awaiting the careless approach of the man beyond.

"By Lord, I never thought I'd catch you." The small flustered man was almost out of breath, yet he still found the will to vent profanities.

Aran sheathed his sword with a casualness borne of much practice. He smirked at Jhary in the dark but said nothing. Merely resuming his place on the ground and repositioning his golden head on his pack to resume his sleep.

"Jesus, did you run all day? I can't believe you left without me. Leaving me with all those barbarians!"

The diminutive bard sounded very hurt, possibly he was too sensitive for the times Aran mused. He did not understand this most changeable man of music and tales, delighted and affable one moment and screaming at him the next. He rolled over and decided he would ignore his mutterings, dawn would be here all too swiftly and he valued his sleep.

*****

The next morning was windy also, but a little brighter than the day previous. Aran woke first and looked at the slate gray sky in hopefulness, but no the clouds were still solid and completely blanketed the sky above. Jhary stirred looking at his companion expectantly as Aran ate and drank, the large warrior saw this and handed him a morsel of meat and the canteen of water. There was little to spare, and he could not believe Jhary had decided to venture here with no food or water at his disposal. Proof to him that this man of the song was none too clever.

They did not speak as they broke camp, there was little to talk of and Aran was a man of few words. Besides Jhary was saving all his breath just to keep pace.

*****

Jormugar crouched examining the tracks of his quarry that led away in the vast field of red sand before him. His large rust-colored hound sat obediently by his side panting evenly awaiting his master's next command. He had observed the two men breaking camp early this dawn, the smoke from their careless cooking fire of last evening had been what had first attracted his attention.

Like the beasts he communed with, Jormugar missed nothing. The white of many boars teeth glinted in his ears set against his mop of thick, unruly brown hair some of which was braided to keep it from falling in his eyes.

Even in this cold, he was bare-chested, with only a fur cape to cover him, revealing many intricate tribal tattoos on his almost hairless chest, back, shoulders, and arms. He was a hunter, a bounty hunter to be most exact. Employment for men like him was never hard to find. His skills as a master of nature and his abilities as a tracker made him a very sought-after individual.

He rose lithe and strong, shouldering his longbow. They were not far ahead. His employers would be most happy with the two new prospects he had located. He lingered on the footprints in the sand once more before parting, a small smile of pleasure gracing his usually unreadable features. The tracks of the two companions one large and heavy indenting the sand the other lighter and smaller, yes they would soon know of their fate.

His lean bay horse waited close by, he mounted it and rode back the way he had come. There would be no need to trail his targets too closely. Jormugar already knew where they were headed, the oasis. He would tell his employer of his findings, and then lead them back to capture their prizes. He was already savoring his ten percent of the spoils when they would be sold into lives of slavery.

*****

Bennett soon discovered many secrets he had previously not been privy to via Nathan's ever-watchful form of intelligence. Some of the information came as a shock to him, and some of it was to be expected. Many of the men had spoken of the idea of defecting and heading south. Pig, Todd, Dwayne, and even Will desired this, and they had even begun planning and laying supplies aside for their exodus. Sven knew what they were planning and was vehemently opposed, though he did not bring this information to the attention of his old friend and leader.

Bennett was bothered by this immensely, but was pleased to learn Gareth was still solidly his man. The criminally minded second in command had made his intentions clear, he had been with Bennett long and had prospered by his hand. He was not going anywhere unless his leader sanctioned it. It was good to know he had not strayed.

For once in his life Bennett chose not to exert his immediate hard hand, but sat and waited for the events to unfold, events he was well aware of. He understood the tension the entire group was now under, himself included. The reason for his delay was both uncertainty and the fact he did not feel his men would turn on him outright. He merely expected their desertion, and he was curious what Sven would do? He had been his closest semblance to a friend in all these long years of strife and war, always there at his right hand however tough the fight or the decision. After all, Sven had even accepted his dear brother's banishment from the tribe with the same stoicism he had accepted everything else.

However blood was always thicker than friendship, and possibly this was the catalyst for Sven's aberrant behavior. Bennett could find no other reason why his ex-henchman did not reveal to him what he so obviously knew was soon to occur? So for the time being he bided his time pretending ignorance.

The speechless Nathan had proven to be more of a boon than Bennett could have realized. He knew everything about everyone, nothing was hidden from him. Who knew what, who was loyal, who was not. Even amongst the slaves. It seemed since his amazing recovery from near death he took to attempting to please his Master with the utmost zeal. The boy spent long private evenings drawing his words of betrayal scrawled painfully in the sands one by one, imparting his intelligence to his Master however benign it seemed. Wezley Bennett was indeed in many ways the happiest of men even in the circumstances.

*****

Even a man as self-absorbed and merciless as Victor Krosse had difficulty looking out on this tortured and suffering world, locked in man-made cold. He used to come here to the tops of the battlements often, but now the sight of this place offended him. He could hardly believe that after all these years and an initial costly war that had already brought the world into complete anarchy, someone else had seen fit to unleash yet more of the world's arsenal of nuclear death.

In his scholarly mind, this had to have been what had transpired, he knew quite possibly he would never know how, or why. Still, the stupidity of it irked him, but Victor was easily irked by many things. Lord Lothar's needs, no new opportunities for military action, and of course lack of new captives to feed his medical curiosities. Other than that life in the fortress went on.

Breathing in the gelid air on this calm day felt somewhat restorative though it hurt his sensitive teeth. Victor had spent many weeks sequestered in the dark depths below. Mostly in his quarters or in his secret laboratory. He avoided the oppressive company of his leader as much as possible, it was more than enough that he see Lothar once a day for his medications and check up, and the ever tiresome run down of the day's issues he was expected to attend to.

*****

The white-haired Stephan looked up from the multitudes of books arranged on his desk, there were many but they all held only one of two themes, the Christian religion or the subject of the effects of a nuclear winter on the earth. The candles almost guttered into darkness but resumed their life as the door was again closed pulling Stephan from his study. It was not his beloved wife who entered as he had expected at this late hour, it was instead his head of the guard.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" Stephan smiled up at him. The captain saluted his Lord before speaking.

"I thought I would just report to you Sir on the status of the watch before turning in." He smiled back at his leader, Stephan was much loved even by the most stolid of his men.

The elderly leader signaled for his man to sit indicating the pitcher of wine and a glass, the man eagerly complied as his watch had been both long and cold.

"All is quiet Sir, no movement at all on the western horizon. People though at large I feel are becoming complacent the Wolf Lord will not attack us, Sir."

"It is my hope," Stephan said heavily. "I am sure he has troubles enough of his own at this time." His man nodded. "What of the farmlands?"

Stephan continued only too happy to shift the tangent of the conversation to something he had more hope of dealing with.

"Zealotry is still an issue Sir there are always malcontents, so far though it has only been a peaceable protest."

"Most fortunate."

"The livestock does not fare well my Lord, we have lost many of the new calves and lambs, and most of the poultry and pigs are now gone."

Stephan made a troubled sound. "We are far from famine though Sir. There are many unused stores, and the people still eat well."

"Then that is a blessing." The elderly man stated. "Thank you Captain for your report, I am sure you are tired, and a good night's rest will be most welcome."

"Thank you, Sir." The man stood, downing the last of his wine, he saluted his Lord and was gone.

Stephan sighed, many were his troubles and cares this evening. He was too restless to sleep. On his desk he searched for comfort, his hand straying to the hefty leather-bound tome that lay there opened. Taking up his burnished goblet that shone liquid gold in the candlelight, the elderly man imbibed deeply of his wine. It helped him focus and steeled his fraying nerves. He took up the heavy book in his gnarled hands, a book of such familiarity and love. The family bible. He recalled his grandmother reading this very passage to him when he was no more than a child. The words flowed silently through his mind yet boomed in a voice of thunder. He did not need to read them for he knew the psalm by heart.

"He said to me, You are my son; today I have become your father."

"Ask me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession."

"You will break them with a rod of iron; you will dash them to pieces like pottery."

"Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth."

"Serve the Lord with fear and celebrate his rule with trembling."

"Kiss his son, or he will be angry and your way will lead to your destruction,

for his wrath can flare up in a moment."

"Blessed are all who take refuge in him."

'Son...My son.' Stephan thought. 'Where are you? Are you safe, are you whole? If only for some word.'

*****

Many days Aran and Jhary had traveled. Hunger and cold at every turn, the water they drew from the abandoned wells and water holes was brackish and unappealing. The weather at least was not inclement. Aran drove himself relentlessly, he was surprised at the bard's endurance, though, over the last few days, he could tell his companion's endurance was not as robust as his own. The smaller man had begun to falter and have great difficulty keeping pace. Surprisingly he did not complain, it seemed to the golden warrior of few words Jhary had been most careful in his verbal exchanges with him since the incident over the mule in the canyon. Rightly so, Aran's tolerance was brittle at best, he felt he was chasing shadows, and yet he had to try.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Jhary was indeed at his physical end, he dreaded each new day trying to keep the pace as much as he hated the frigid nights spent mostly in the open. He was far from home and the places he used to frequent to ply his trade, he had never ventured this far north not once in his life. There was not a day that went by he did not admonish himself for this madness, he should have turned back long ago.

Aran himself had lost count of the days since he had left Bryn's cave. He knew exactly where he was though, he was surrounded by familiar landmarks as subtle as many of them appeared. His pace quickened in unconscious realization he would soon be at the destination he sought.

Jhary had dropped behind considerably, and Aran paid him no heed. Why the man of music had chosen to follow him he could not fathom. He would catch up by nightfall, and if he did not so be it. The strong man crested the rise and before him there it lay, the remnants of her burned village. He put his hand to the pommel of his sword and smiled, his vital gaze raking the vista stretched before him. The steady wind at his back blew his thick golden hair before his eyes, and he pushed it out of his vision impatiently. He looked about him turning taking in everything in all directions, he could see Jhary following miles behind, a mere speck in the distance.

In recent days he had felt unease, was it real or imagined? He had sensed eyes on him, yet he had spied no one. He shrugged taking one more look backward, there was no one other than his companion behind him.

He was about to begin the descent into the valley when he detected subtle movement. A chestnut horse with a white blaze and socks grazing on the verge of the stand of trees bordering the remains of the settlement. Her horse had looked just as this one did, a sturdy Belgian plow horse; they had to be one and the same! As Aran looked closer, he sighted a few more animals, another horse and a cow grazing in the center of the ramshackle compound.

However, best of all he could see the smoke of a solitary fire coming from the chimney of one of the intact huts. Aran beamed he was filled with elation, his hunch vindicated, and as he descended the dune into the cover of the trees he was already counting his blessings in advance.

His companion trailed far behind. Aran would have plenty of time to do that which he needed before Jhary arrived. Just as well really, as he sensed the bard would not have the stomach for it. Aran sulked unseen in the shade of the trees in the late afternoon twilight. The evergreens looked eerie divested of their leaves. He drew closer to the hut which had piqued his interest. There was no movement other than the three large animals he had previously sighted.

The heavy-set chestnut horse snorted just feet from where he stood, there were no dogs on guard this time. Aran took one last look and broke from his cover to edge his way along the remnants of the palisade fence. Most of its length was blackened or consumed by fire, he could see the vast expanses of charred wood where the immense barn had once stood, most of the huts had suffered a similar fate. Burned completely to the ground. He stole yet another glance at the building he had marked for his interest before clearing the barrier effortlessly and on gaining the interior of the compound he laid low against a partial wall of a now roofless dwelling.

From this vantage point, he had a clear view of his intended target, a low-roofed wooden building. Its one small window shrouded by the dark of an overhanging iron-clad veranda. It came to him as he lay there on his belly there were no remains, human nor animal remaining in the compound. He began to speculate that possibly there was not just one lone fugitive woman here after all.

His doubts fueled his caution and he lay a long time, listening, watching. He could hear noises coming from the hut beyond, ones of domesticity. The door opened, and he was disappointed with what he saw, a man emerged, he was much older than Aran. Nothing he could not easily deal with. It occurred to him he was merely looking at a few survivors that had somehow escaped the raiders all these long weeks before and had resumed their lives here; nothing more.

Aran felt cheated and black inside, all he could hope was one of them may have seen her, or could at least give him something tangible he might use to find her. The man was cutting wood unaware of his presence. He left his cover tracing a route back behind the small cottage toward the man's unsuspecting back.

Aran did not wish to kill him, at least not immediately, he tackled his quarry from behind. He felt the bulk of the axe head slam him in the shoulder, the man had good presence of mind even under the pressure of the surprise attack. Aran smarted from the solid blow, however it did not buy the man any real advantage. If anything it only made him less merciful.

Aran had him secured, pinned face down to the dirt in moments.

"Is this your village, have you always lived here?" Aran rasped in between the pain he could feel emanating from his shoulder. The confused and frightened man did not immediately respond to the question. Aran pushed him savagely into the dirt winding him.

The man attempted to wrest a "yes" from his lips to placate him.

"Did you survive the raid?"

The man hesitated, then nodded in assent.

"I'm looking for a woman." The man stiffened. "Not just any woman." Aran snarled in annoyance. "She lived here. Tall woman, red-headed, an archer." The man paused, Aran was exerting painful pressure with his knee on the center of his back. The axe lay feet from him quite unattainable.

"Aurianne." The name tumbled forth from panicked lips. The very same name shouted into the night by the captured smith.

"Is she here?"

The man shook his head.

"I have not seen her since the night our settlement was raided."

"Stop!" A woman's voice.

Aran looked up into the twin barrels of a shotgun aimed directly at his face. Beyond the weapon stood a solidly built but attractive young woman, not Aran's usual fare but she appealed to him just the same. "Let him go." She said. Her voice was shaking, though the gun she held was steady. Aran realized he had a very real chance of being shot.

Slowly he relinquished his hold on the man and backed up, his hands in front of him. The two settlers lingering on his hands adorned with a priceless plethora of gold and gems. Visible proof he was a bandit and a murderer.

"I suggest you leave," she said. She reminded Aran of a she-wolf protecting her own. He admired her courage even though she was only a woman. He gazed at her again she was heavily pregnant, her skin milky and soft, her abundant mane of wavy dark blonde hair tied back behind her head, out of her eyes. In response, she raised the gun at him. Her feminine long lashed brown eyes, glittered. "Go," she said. Her male companion was heading for the discarded axe.

Aran made his move then, it was swift and bold. He drew Blacksteel in a fluid motion, the blackened blade arced from the sheath knocking the shotgun from its intended trajectory. It exploded harmlessly into the air wide of its mark, he pushed the woman backward into the dirt and in the same deft movement disemboweled her male companion before he ever gained the axe on the ground.

While the man lay dying in the dirt Aran turned his attention to the woman, to her credit she was already attempting to regain her feet and run. The shotgun was quite forgotten. He caught her easily, holding her both wrists in his one strong hand. He had never taken his eye from the hut, no one else emerged so he decided it was safe to assume these two were the only occupants. His deduction was correct as he forced her wide-hipped form before him through the doorway. The orderly domicile was quite empty. He bore her to the bed framed in natural wood supporting a real mattress. He had only one thing on his mind.

"Don't kill me?" She stammered pleading. "I'll do what you want." Aran ignored her pressing her backward onto the bed, she was second prize to him, but after so long without she would do quite admirably. She was not like Maya whom he had been forced to leave behind and rescind to another man, small, lithe, and as he felt easily broken. She was large robust and strong, he was not at all gentle or sparing of his attentions.

She sobbed under him and he did not relent until he was wholly satisfied.

Aran would allow her to live for now. He told her as much, he did not mince his words nor gloss them over. She would do precisely as he said or she would join her male counterpart. By the time Jhary appeared Aran was sitting down to a well-cooked meal of beef stew, relaxed and warm.

*****

Jhary knew his companion well, he saw the purple of the large spreading bruise on Aran's shoulder, he had also sighted the dead man outside wallowing in his own entrails. He looked at the woman with pity and sheathed his own rapier, as usual, his large friend had taken away any need for its use. He was glad, Jhary was hardly a man of violence. The comely soft soft-eyed woman looked at him. Jhary smiled doing his best to put her at ease removing the burden of his treasured guitar from his back. She brought him food and drink with little communication, she was sullen and withdrawn in Jhary's mind she had every right to be.

The two men stayed the night, it was good to be warm, comfortable, and out of the wind for a change. Aran hogtied his female captive before he slept, it was plain he did not trust her to exact some kind of revenge.

"What are you going to do with her?" Jhary dared bring himself to ask his barbaric friend, as he lay on the comfortable bed, Aran much happier on the floor.

"She doesn't know anything," Aran answered plainly disappointed.

"But..."

"Probably leave her here." Aran cut whatever it was he wished to say short, and Jhary knew better than to press him any further. It did not matter for in no time at all he had drifted off to sleep.

*****

Sven came often to the periphery of the camp to cut much-needed wood. It kept his body strong and his mind occupied. He could begin to see the subtle changes in his physique and they alarmed him. It was more than the effects of simple aging. The thickening of his waist, the fading definition in his muscular frame. He did not wish to grow weak and fat, the despised eunuch of the camp.

He knew everyone was by now aware of his mishap. It did not matter that he had suffered it bravely at the hands of the enemy. He was still an object of ridicule and whispers. He had gone from one of the most feared and respected men in the hierarchy here to little more than a beast of burden, even if he was free. However he had one thing the others did not, he had a family. He alone was the proud father of a healthy growing son. Something no other man here could boast of.

Heavy footfalls close by, metal shod. Sven turned toward the sound, the large axe clutched in his powerful hand. Tall, shaven-headed, dressed in all black leather set off by the shining argent of steel adornment. It was none other than Wezley Bennett. Sven did not know what to make of this visit.

He set the axe down burying the sharp blade in the wood he was splitting. The wind was cold but after the exertion, Sven was far from feeling the chill.

"We need to talk," Bennett said casually as he drew close. Sven was wary, his leader did nothing of the casual or social nature that did not have some ulterior purpose. Since his brother had been exiled the two had barely exchanged a single word even in passing.

Sven merely nodded, and let the black-clad man continue. He saw the large man cross his arms, the profusion of weapons he carried girded his immense waist.

"I do not feel we are as cohesive as we once were." Bennett spat onto the sand.

Sven felt uneasy at his leader's statement. He knew then that his men were ready to leave, dissidence biting at his heels. He had wished Bennett had not come to him over this, he was unsure how candid to be. He had a family now to protect. So he simply played cautious and nodded his golden head.

"I know you argued with them and told them not to leave. Yes, I know that much." Bennett shifted his weight and looked straight at Sven meeting his sad grey gaze with his intense pale one.

Sven had much difficulty holding the hard stare and looked away to the sands first. He remained silent.

"So why didn't you tell me when you first knew of the discontent?" Sven felt cornered, he did not often feel this way. He had in all these years been loyal to his leader. He was treading dangerous ground and he was unsure how to navigate it and still appear above reproach. Perhaps today it was not possible.

"I have no real answer to that Sir." He said quietly most penitent.

"I could kill you for less." Bennett hissed as he removed the double-sided dagger he always carried secreted in his boot, resting it against his henchman's lower groin. "But you and I both know that you are dead already." His jibe was cruel.

Sven looked mutely at the ground wordless.

"Bitter over your brother?" The pointed blade sat there hovering below his navel. Sven dwelt for one moment on the thought of impaling himself on it, he still was obsessed with these sudden fancies on occasion, but that was a coward's choice. He had a family who depended on him. He was not about to throw them to the wolves as he had so easily done to his younger brother. They had committed no crime. Let his leader ridicule or punish him if he must.

"No Sir, but if I may speak plainly it was a hard cross to bear. I will not lie, I miss him."

"He was a good warrior but he was a fool." Bennett goaded. Sven did not rise to the bait, his face a mask of calm and steadfastness. It would not do to show any visible form of weakness no matter what he felt inside.

There was a long silence infused with only the sounds of the howling wind.

"So, will you leave also?" Bennett's eyes had not left him.

Sven shook his shaggy head. "No Sir, my place is here."

"Yet your will to fight is gone." It was more a statement than a question. Bennett's criticism stung Sven.

"Not when the cause is just Sir."

"I see, ever the honorable soldier. Well, it doesn't wash out here." Bennett sniggered ungraciously. His eyebrow raised. "Then my friend what do you suggest I do?"

Sven swallowed at the challenge he had just been presented. There was only one thing he felt he could answer with. "What you have always done so well Sir."

"What is that?" Bennett retorted dryly.

"Give them hope, lead them to a goal."

"I figured you would say as much." The big man was solemn and thoughtful as he turned on his heel and walked away.

Sven watched him depart, wrenching the axe head from the sundered piece of wood much troubled. He had expected more, a show of violence, an edict of punishment. It felt most wrong he had been presented with neither.

*****

Aran slept well on the sheepskin rugs strewn on the cabin floor, it had been the best sleep he could recall in recent memory. He had been neither cold nor uncomfortable, he was a little loathe to leave this place of comforts, but his search lay elsewhere. His captive was looking at him from the floor in silent hope, she was still hogtied where he had last left her. Brown eyes pleading in her discomfort. He rose, deciding he would not immediately free her; there was something he must do first.

He stole from the hut buckling his sword about his waist while his companion languished in the world of dreams, crossing the clearing and passing by the sorry collection of charred debris, a standing monument to the bloodshed of some weeks prior. He came to the narrow winding pathway that led into the once-dark wood. He could sight vaguely the cottage that stood back in the lifeless trees. They had not been so bereft of leaves the last time he stood in this very spot.

Aran pressed forward through the skeletons of the trees, the pathway was devoid of tracks. Green eyes raked the frozen arid soil for any trace of life that may have passed this way. He stood at the wooden doorway to the lone building, it was flung wide, hinges creaking in the wind. The sound was sorrowful and bespoke of the desolation and abandonment here.

He lingered at the threshold of the small secluded building, a sheet of errant iron flapped noisily on the roof in the rising wind. No one had been here for a very long time, the house smelled of nature and the incursion of the few wild beasts that still remained here in the dying woodland. He cast his gaze about the single-roomed residence one last time, she had lived here once, this was her world, her familiarity. He wanted her with a longing borne of both body and mind.

The warrior sighed and turned his back on the disheveled remnants of the modest but formerly comfortable home. His hunch had been wrong, she had never returned here as he had predicted. He put his hand to his golden stubbled chin in deep consternation, gazing out around the immediate grounds of the small home one last time.

Naught but the dying trees and the flat well-trodden earth to greet him. He was about to walk away when he saw the raised mound of earth to the side of the building, a shallow grave and most recent. Something in Aran's heart told him without question Aurianne had returned here and he was looking at the grave of her mother. He recalled the injured woman in her company on the horse that night, she could have been no one else. The resemblance was striking.

He crouched down by the freshly raised soil putting his hands to the earth, already the little patch of disturbed ground was returning to nature. She had been here but that was weeks ago. Where to now he thought? Heart heavy, mind working doubly hard. He was close but not close enough. Reluctantly he left the cottage buried in the dying forest to return to the hut. He freed his captive and bid her to build a fire and prepare him some food.

Jhary stirred in the warm bed, he stretched luxuriating in the comfort he must soon forfeit, he could not recall feeling so good or comfortable for months. He again closed his eyes, he had no wish to rise hurriedly. He could hear the others in the small one-room dwelling. The sound of cooking utensils and the crackling of a welcoming fire in the stone hearth reached his ears. It was not long before the smell of delicious food pervaded his senses as well. Hunger stirred him, it had been many days since he had sated it in any satisfactory manner.

Jhary left the bed reveling in the unaccustomed warmth of the hut seating himself by the roaring fire. If only we could just remain here, the thought held much allure. Though he sensed he may not be treated too kindly by the remaining female inhabitant if he chose to indeed languish here once Aran departed. He was no killer nor fighter either, love and music were preferable.

He ran his elegant fingers through his thick, straight blond streaked hair, returning it to the small ponytail out of his eyes. He took the proffered bowl of stew, the smell was intoxicating and the taste even more so. He could not get enough. Aran ate silently nearby, spearing the chunks of meat on the tip of his poignard rather than using a spoon. The remainder he simply drank from the bowl. He was a savage Jhary thought, but a very capable and useful one. He just wished the man did not have this fanatical need to travel so far north, and hoped once he had found or given up on what he had sought he would indeed return to more the lucrative southern lands.

Aran rose abruptly, Jhary could not miss the woman's fearful reaction to the large man's sudden move. He felt acutely sorry for her, she would be left behind to mourn her partner and continue on a dangerous solitary life if she was fortunate. It was not a happy thought, yet he could not help her nor offer her anything but a weak smile which she did not return.

Aran had gone outside to inspect the two horses, Jhary watched him from the doorway as the experienced warrior ran his hands over their legs judging their soundness. He promptly returned to the house, she was looking at him as he advanced on her. Jhary could not help but notice she leaned back as he came purposely toward her.

"You have bridles and saddles for the horses?" He questioned, looking demanding and fierce.

"Yes, in the side building, though there is no saddle for the big horse." She answered, quietly readying herself for the worst. Aran turned abruptly and was gone, Jhary sighed he had never met a man more relentless than the one he presently had in his company. It was most obvious the troubled warrior had not found that which he sought here and was only too ready to press on to the next unknown destination. The bard was not relishing this future.

Jhary cast one last look over his shoulder before he rode after his already swiftly departing companion. Carried to him were harsh sobs over the rising wind, the woman crouched over her cold fleshed companion in a posture of abject grief. Her dark blue dress was carelessly beneath her in the dirt and the spreading, congealed blood that contaminated the red soil. Holding him to her, weeping. The bard turned flicking his mount's reins, urging the beast into a canter. He could bear no more of the painful tableau.

*****

Jormugar had erred in his judgment and his employer had been most displeased. He could not afford to fail in his promise again. It was most unlike Jormugar to make these kinds of careless mistakes and dangerous besides. Master Jacques would not accept his failure a second time; he must locate and bring forth that which he had promised. He had seen others fail to do this and their futures had been decidedly short.

Wallowing in the ramifications of this threat this young man did not enjoy this kind of pressure. He had been so sure of his quarry's destination, yet he had been wrong in his prediction. Frantically he had scoured the windswept plains for any clue as to where they had headed. He absently stroked his canine companion's head, the dog looked up at him and whined. He beckoned the beast to quiet with a gesture of his hand, the hound obediently lowered his body to the ground and lay patiently as the lithe man examined the fresh horse manure before him. They were mounted now and not far ahead, but was he still tailing the same men? He hoped he was.

He had ridden his horse hard in a great arc that they may not see his approach, finally catching sight of them just before the oasis. They had made a detour then, but it was irrefutably the same two men he had sighted earlier. Relief washed over his calm features. This time he would make no further errors.

*****

Jhary was grateful he had been given the smaller horse along with the saddle, he was no horseman of excellence as his companion seemed to be. He followed the formidable warrior, wondering where he was now headed at such a breakneck pace. The ride was surprisingly short, and his question was answered well before the close of the afternoon.

They reigned in their mounts over a high depression in the earth. It looked as though this selected place had been sheltered from all else on the earth. Jhary looked down, a whistle he could not suppress escaped his lips, as he sighted the oasis sequestered in the depression many feet below.

"You knew this was here?" He said in wonderment, as he gazed on the amazing secret vista that spread before him.

Aran nodded and dismounted. His horse restless, it could already scent the others below and the water also. He had no wish to signal to any who may be below of his arrival. He pulled the massive plow horse about to withdraw from the precipice, motioning Jhary to do the same.

It was a hunch containing no tangible truth. Aran had to hope she was here. At worst it would be a good location to spend the night.

"I want you to wait here," Aran instructed sliding from the horse.

Jhary nodded though he felt uneasy, he took the large equine's reigns. Aran departed silently into the canyon below. He wondered how long it would be prudent to wait?