Like a fool, Charlot had squandered much of his scrying powder for a glimpse of Fraughten and, without his laboratory, he could not make more. He thought he had enough to find the boy, but he would not have long to do it.

The scrying had a larger audience this time. Korak's tail wagged, anticipating the display, and the wolf laid on his uninjured side, staring into the still pool. Charlot found the tiny vial, and he carefully tapped the last of the purple powder onto the pool.

As before, the powder hung on the surface of the water. He spoke the words, and the water became a deep purple, then darkest indigo. There was a huff of excitement, and a massive paw drummed the riverbank. A quiver shot through the calm surface.

"Contain yourself, Korak!" Charlot beseeched the silverpaw, and the bear lowered his head, tail still wagging like mad. The water had darkened until it was pure black, and the bear craned his head, his ears pointed with interest.

The water took on a silvery sheen, and Charlot dipped the single white hair into the surface of the pool. The water wicked up it, coating it with silver, and Charlot let go before it could touch his own hand and taint the scrying. He concentrated as hard as he could on the boy, thinking of the blaze of curly white hair and looking for its fellows.

The picture resolved and, once more, Charlot was pained to see how much of the world he was missing. The scrying was hurtling down a path. He could see leaves whipping by, white maple, albeery, blue spruce, and then he saw their quarry, the white blaze in the boy’s hair.

At last!

The boy was racing up the path, gasping for air. In the distance, Charlot could hear dogs howling, and the hair on his neck rose. It was a sound you never forgot, the baying of the war dogs of Urth’Wyrth!

Charlot peered behind the fleeing boy for a sign of who pursued him and cresting the hill were four monstrous men, clad from head to toe in black armor, their faces hidden by helms. Legionnaires! They were trotting forward at a rattling, half-jogging pace Charlot knew they could keep up all day, even in armor.

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The boy struggled to keep up the pace, and Charlot knew that was just what the legionnaires wanted. They would run the boy down while their dogs cut off retreat. When he could finally run no more, they would decapitate him and bring his skull back to the volcano to give it to Urth’Wyrth. The greater the fear, the more their demon god would exult in the sacrifice of the skull.

It wasn’t only his skull they wanted. Nothing about the boy’s death would be clean. When their vile work was through, they would devour him. Terror and agony were like spices to the Wyrth. They thought a man tasted different when he ended badly.

"BOY!" Charlot thundered, twisting the magic of the scrying portal so that his voice could pass through it. "I am coming to save you! Keep running! Try to make it to a river. Wyrth don’t swim!”

"Help! Help! Help!" came the boy's voice, in babbling, terrified Jata.

"Your name! Speak your name!"

The boy was struggling to catch his breath. Already, Charlot could see the black surface of the pond beginning to dull, the scrying powder fading fast. Sending words through the portal taxed its energy even further.

"SAY IT!" Charlot howled.

"SYLAS!" cried the boy, and then the spell broke. Charlot tried to retrieve the hair, but it had drifted away. He had to wade into the pool to grab it before it could be carried away downstream. He emerged dripping and whirled out the words to the drying spell. Steam swirled around Charlot as the bear and wolf gawked at him. as bear and wolf peered at him, steam spinning around him. He had to hurry!

"Korak! Down!" Charlot cried, and the bear lowered so that he could mount up. Atop the silverpaw, Charlot tied the single hair around his finger, and then spoke a cantrip of finding. The curly white hair straightened, pointing at the sky.

"Sylas," Charlot invoked, concentrating on the boy, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. For an instant, the hair only stood straight up, but then slowly, it bent toward the south and west, across the stream.

"Westward!" Charlot cried. He tugged at the bear's fur and squeezed his knees, and Korak darted forward, crashing across the stream in a great spray of water, with the wolf racing after them.