A strange fog rose from the waters of the Nazrad. Neri watched closely as it danced like a cloud of pale children over the rippling waters. Whispers echoed in the waves lapping onto the shore, then he heard the cutting of oars. The prince’s dromon emerged suddenly from the fog, its shadow spreading behind it like a cloak. Water sloshed about as it reared up to the shore and a dozen soldiers leapt out to moore the craft. Prince Lobuhl was the last to leave the ship. He was a tall dwarf with wide shoulders and a hard gauntness that hinted at hidden strength. His long auburn hair draped unplaited over his shoulders, and his beard almost reached his belt. He looked about with his dark and deep-set eyes, then spotted Neri crouched among the rocks. Neri had not meant to conceal himself; he only sat still out of habit, and the green and tan cloaks of the Owl Guard matched rock, mud, and tree very well.

"Strange fog," said the prince. His voice had a low and airy sound that reminded Neri of water trickling deep inside a cave.

"It came with the dawn." Neri stood and drew back his hood. Golden hair spilled out over his strong shoulders. Lobuhl stood silently for a moment, grinding his teeth in the milky white mist. Neri could read the signs. He’d sent a thrush with a message to Chief Yormun, and Prince Lobuhl arrived in a warship, clinching his jaw. He’d been arguing with his king brother, and either wanted distance from him, or had been sent away by him.

“Take me to the dead,” Lobuhl said.

Neri bowed and gestured toward the dense ranks of willows and pines up the shore. "After you, Dread Highness". He made a quick set of signals with his hands as they approached the forest and four of his scouts emerged from the trees as they passed, bowed to the prince, then formed up behind them. When they reached the clearing, Lobuhl drew his sword and stabbed it into the ground. A small forest of swords, spears and axes had been stuck into the damp soil in symbol of truce. A cluster of elves, humans, and a pair of goblins were gathered around the corpses.

Dathenyn was kneeling by one of the dead orcs, running her fingers through the fallen warrior’s silken hair.

"You must be Meromis's girl," said Lobuhl.

Sunlight shone through her crimson mohawk as the elf inclined her head. "How goes your morning, Dread Highness?"

"Better than theirs." Lobuhl kicked one of the dead gnolls. Many of the dog-shaped and rodent-like creatures lay strewn about the clearing, with a few of them draped over tree branches. Their limbs and jaws were broken, their weapons were splintered, and their blood stained the grass and surrounding trunks. There were twenty at least.

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"Their bands are missing," Lobuhl said as he examined the grey skinned orcs.

Neri had noticed the same thing when he discovered them. Their large, muscular bodies had been punctured deeply and their heads and necks were crushed, and no tribal bands were to be found on their arms..

"Horse-man," said the smaller of the two goblins, a dark, squat creature with a topknot of purple hair. The other goblin pointed to three sets of tracks leading into the woods. The feet were large, clawed, and their prints far apart.

"Those are orc tracks," the prince said dully.

Dathenyn began intently searching the borders of the clearing, examining leaves and closely eyeing the ground. "Horse-man? You mean a centaur? Why do you say that, Grandell? Do you see centaur prints? I only see tracks of orcs and gnolls."

Grandell raised the collar of his bull hide duster and shook his head, jingling the many rows of jewelry in his large, sail-shaped ears. "Five orcs," he rasped, pointing at the footprints between the dead bodies, "twenty gnolls. Two dead orcs, twenty dead gnolls, makes sense. Three orcs run,leave their friends, no totem, no sense. Orcs die, friends make totem. No totem. Orcs chase horse-man, no time for totem, makes sense. Horse-man don't leave prints. Feet pull dirt up, not push down. If horse-man dead, orcs burn it, we smell. If not, orcs dead, free scalps. No smell burned horse-man, so free scalps."

"If there is a centaur..." said Dathenyn, plucking her glaive from the ground. A crow cawed and fluttered noisily away. Everyone but Lobuhl and Grandell flinched. Grandell whickered like a horse.

Neri followed the orc tracks Grandell had pointed out into the woods. It was difficult to spot them in the undergrowth of the dense forest, but other signs of their passing abounded. They made no effort to conceal themselves, hurling their big bodies at top speed. Broken branches, gashes in tree trunks; whatever they were pursuing it was with complete abandon. Just then a sickly moan echoed through the air. Neri turned and ran to the clearing. Dathenyn and her scouts had already taken up their weapons, Grandell whickered again, and the humans were gone. Neri whistled sharply and a dozen of his Owl Guards emerged from behind bushes and trees.

"It has to die," Lobuhl said intently.

Neri bowed quickly. "It will, Dread Highness.”

Lobuhl nodded. “I trust you’ll handle it. I may come back, though, to check on things. Send a thrush if you need supplies, or if you just want company. I’ll take any excuse to dodge this stupid wedding.”

Neri smiled, then his face turned to shadow and steel as he turned from his prince and led his men into the Coldwood.