The road to Jadpat was lined with trees on both sides, cutting off much of the light of the full moon as it rose higher above the distant Fipura Mountains in the southeast. The summer heat began to dissipate, and a breeze picked up, usually an indication of an impending storm. Balder Khan searched the starry sky, but saw no clouds anywhere. That meant little, since summer storms could sweep up the Otarand River Valley from the south in the blink of an eye. When they did occur, the storms were swift, violent, and torrential. He hoped he would be back in Lodar before then.

The moon was nearly overhead, casting an erie glow on the road, when Balder Khan reached the point in the road where it veered straight north. The cultivated fields of Lodar had given away to the dense woods of the Dolat Forest, a vast expanse of trees that stretched for dozens of miles in every direction. He had ridden hard, and both he and his horse were exhausted. But this was the spot indicated in the Mazidaran's message to Isma. He reined in his horse and slowed to a walk. His eyes searched the dark shadows of the forest.

He had been waiting for some time and nothing had happened. He could hear more and more of the sounds of the forest. The hooting of an owl. The rustle of a small animal in the underbrush. The chirrups of night insects. Each sound only increased Balder Khan's impatience. He was about to head back towards Lodar when he heard the approach of a horse. Balder Khan froze, willing his horse into silence also.

The rider was coming swiftly, though not at a full gallop. The dense forest muffled the sounds of the horse's hooves, making it difficult to judge how near the rider was. Thus, the rider was almost upon the Conqueror before Balder Khan was able to distinguish him from the shadows. He urged his own mount into the center of the road, presenting a barrier that forced the rider to reign his horse abruptly.

"Who goes there?" demanded Balder Khan, his hand on his sword's hilt.

"Ah, Conqueror, you received my message! It is only I, young Akkra from Mazidar, out enjoying this brisk night air."

"What are you doing here, Mazidaran? You are supposed to be returning to Mazidar with a peace treaty." The Conqueror had still not released his grip on his sword. He suspected a trap, with the Prince as bait. Try as he could, however, he could hear no signs of the stealthy approach of men. That, however, was no consolation. He had seen how easily this same Prince had slipped in and out of his camp at Matkot. He had no doubt the wily Mazidarans could duplicate that feat here.

The Prince shrugged. "It hardly takes more than one person to carry the treaty back to the King of Mazidar. I had other, more urgent business."

Balder Khan raised his eyebrows. "And what might your other business be, Prince Akkra?"

The Prince dismounted, gesturing for Balder Khan to do likewise. When both were standing on the ground, the Prince replied. "You have heard the rumors about the barbarians, have you not?"

"Of course," spat the Conqueror. "And that's all they are, rumors!"

The Prince shook his head, a gesture that Balder Khan could barely see. "Not so, my lord. Not so. There are barbarians in the Zepores, amassing not more than 2 or 3 days from here. Thousands of them, from all the tribes of the further mountains."

Balder Khan involuntarily drew his sword in consternation. "How do you know this? What part do you play with these barbarians? Are you in fact planning an attack on Lodar? Answer me immediately, Akkra, or I'll take your life!"

Akkra tried to calm him down. "Put away your sword, Conqueror. If an attack were my objective, do you think I would tell you? No, Balder Khan, we wish no harm to come to Lodar, nor any part of Tandaria. In fact, we have only the most honorable intentions. However, I must tell you a story in order for you to understand."

"Speak quickly, then," said the Magar, still suspicious of the Prince's motives.

"You are well aware that my father, the King of Mazidar, did not always dwell in the lands of Tandaria. In fact, when I was but a babe, my people hailed from the snow-covered passes of the Zepores, members of the Tolkar tribe. The Tolkars were a proud people, much better than most of the other tribes. We numbered forty-five differnt clans in our tribe, who for the most part lived in peace. That peace lasted a long time, due to able leadership by my father and his predecessors. However, a rival clan wanted to lead the Tolkars, and plotted against my father. They made it appear that he was violating some of the tribe's sacred taboos. He was forced to flee, north and east, into the Forbidden Zone.

"Not much is known of the Forbidden Zone in Tandaria. The Mountain Tribes believed the Forbidden Zone is peopled by monsters and demons. In fact, it is not much different than any other place, with the exception that the inhabitants are strangely formed, or in some cases deformed. Some of them have strange powers, powers to see into the souls of others. Some have the power to burst sticks into flame or move objects without the use of their hands. Most, however, are marked by the gods with terrible afflictions. Discolored skin, so that they appear of several different hues. Missing arms, legs, hands. Some have only one eye or even no eyes. Most of their children live a wretched life, and die at a very young age. Most of their babies are taken by the gods before birth.

"In spite of these deformities, the people of the Forbidden Zone are friendly, compassionate, and brave. Their warriors are every bit as courageous as any in Tandaria. Their women share the same passions as ours. Their mothers have the same love for their children as any mother would anywhere else in the world.

"In short, Balder Khan, the Forbidden Zone is not filled with monsters, but with people the gods have treated monstrously."

Balder Khan nodded, not sure whether to believe the Mazidaran or not. While he had heard tales of the Forbidden Zone, they were tales only whispered by the oldest in the village. No one he had ever encountered had ever met anyone who had been to the Forbidden Zone. To go to the Forbidden Zone was to invite certain death.

"Some of the inhabitants of the Forbidden Zone found my father. He and his followers were weak from the long trek they had been forced to make. They were nurtured back to health by the People, as they call themselves. They are also known as the Changlings, a term that they themselves will sometimes use.

"My father spent many years among the People, eventually even taking a wife from their kind. But no matter how pleasant life among them was, a man always has a yearning for the land of his ancestors. My father was no different. He wanted to be amongst his own people, taking his rightful place as chieftian of the Tolkars. After much discussion, among those members of his clan who went with him, and with his newly acquired clans by marriage, my father decided to return to the Zepores and claim his place with the Tolkars. Many of the Changelings followed him, wishing to remain by his side in the battle to regain his tribal rights.

"As you might expect, the usurpers did not relinquish their power willingly. In fact, this was a dark period in the history of the Tolkars, for there was much bloodshed on both sides of the feud. Many times, my father wanted to end it all and return to the land of the People, but there were many clans within the Tolkars who were dissatisfied with the usurpers also, and they insisted that he stay. In the end, with the aid of the Changelings, my father was victorious and became chief of all the Tolkars.

"There was a period of peace among our people. During this time, my father and Anstrel, his Changeling wife, tried repeatedly to have a child. Twice the gods denied them this gift. Finally, Anstrel conceived a third time, bearing a son -- me. Unfortunately, she died during childbirth, so I never met her."

Balder Khan stared at the Prince in surprise. "You're part Changeling, then?" He wondered what powers the Prince had acquired from his mother.

The Prince seemed to know his thoughts. "My mother was no demon, Magar, no more so than any loving and caring person ever was." Akkra bristled with suppressed rage. Balder Khan's hand tightened on his sword, expecting momentarily an outraged attack. But the Mazidaran's rage was directed as much against himself as towards the Conqueror, as though the Prince were to blame for his mother's demise. And in one sense, he was. "Though I knew her not, I have heard many stories from those who were with my mother and father during those tragic years. They have always described her as compassionate and brave, willing to sacrifice herself for her husband and clan." The Prince's anger abated somewhat, and he resumed his tale.

"With the death of my mother, my father fell into a state of despondency. The affairs of ruling the clans was left to the tribal elders and any who cared to assume leadership. Many of those who did so were not wise men or good leaders. Strife became more widespread, as clans resorted to physical combat to resolve petty disputes. Still my father did nothing.

"When my mother died, many of her clan were still living amongst the Tolkars. After her funeral rites were completed, some of the People chose to return to their homelands, but many stayed. These few became the target of fear and hatred by the humans, not from the Tolkars, mind you, but from the other tribes and clans that lived in the Zepores. Naturally, they protected themselves from attack or persecution, but events only became worse. An epidemic of the pox killed many of the newly born that year. The People were blamed for it, since they seemed to show a natural resistance to the disease. If hunting was poor, the People were the cause. If someone was ill, the fault was laid at the doorsteps of the Changelings' lodges.

"The Tolkars found themselves outcast from the humans, and both the People and the Tolkars were subject to surprise attacks, beatings, and even slayings.

"Eventually, fighting broke out between the Changelings and the other tribes. Many of them were killed. The survivors were terrible in their wrath, using powers none dreamed they had. Whole villages were burned to the ground in a wave of a hand by one of the Changeling women. A young Changeling warrior, armed only with a wooden staff, defeated a dozen Clors warriors, simply by shouting at them to die.

"Needless to say, Conqueror, this state of warfare could not continue. My father was finally forced out of his despair and acted to prevent more bloodshed. But it was too late. More of the People, summoned by magic, began to arrive in the Zepores, ready to aid their brothers and sisters in this battle against the humans.

"My father tried to establish peace, but the humans had only one desire. To force the People back into the Forbidden Zone. On their part, the People could not leave the Tolkar tribe as long as one of their kind was still alive and unable to return with them to the Forbidden Zone."

Balder Khan interrupted the Prince. "But who was unable to return? It would seem to me an easy thing for them simply to pack up their belongings and go back."

"The Changeling who could not return was me," said the Prince. "My father did not want to leave the Zepores and his own kind. Though he loved the People, you must remember that they are very alien from us. He wanted me to remain among the humankind so that I would be as human as possible. As long as he refused to return to the Forbidden Zone, and as long as he refused to allow them to take me with them, they would not leave."

"That seems very strange, my lord," said the Conqueror. "Why was this so important to them?"

"We know not, Balder Khan, though we believe it is because so many of their young are taken by the gods that they have much greater concern for their offspring than others might. But that is only a theory, since they only said that they could not return without me.

"It seemed we had reached an impasse. The fighting resumed, and hardly a week passed but there was another death. Try as he could, my father was unable to prevent further violence. It was soon apparent that the only end to this dilemma woud come when every Changeling or every human was dead."

The Prince paused in his tale, thinking back on those days that he could only have known from stories spoken around campfires. How much of it was true, Balder Khan did not know. Most tales grew with time, becoming after one or two generations, extreme caricatures of themselves. Perhaps that was so in this case also.

"No, my lord Conqueror, that is not the case," said the Prince.

Balder Khan jumped in surprise. That was the second time the Mazidaran was able to take words out of his head! What kind of uncanny magic was this?

"As far as we can tell, it is the Changeling trait I inherited from Anstrel. Many times, I can see the thoughts of another person. Right now, with you, it is easy to even hear the words you think. Most of the time, it is much more fuzzy, so that I cannot hear words, but I know whether a person is telling the truth or lieing. I can see what their next actions are going to be as quickly as they do."

"By Att's balls, that is hogwash," snorted the Conqueror.

The Prince shrugged. "Give me a test, my lord, and prove it to yourself."

The Conqueror tried to think of something that could be used to trick the Prince. He recalled some of Isma's comments about the Prince. She had told the Conqueror that she violently objected to the Mazidaran's constant amorous attention. "I am thinking of a comment made by a mutual acquaintance," he said.

Akkra immediately heard Balder Khan's thought. He also knew that Isma had not objected that violently, but in fact had been upset because she did enjoy making love with Akkra. It was that strong streak of guilt that had alerted Akkra that Isma was no ordinary concubine, sent to pleasure a foreign emissary. However, this was one instance where it was better not to worry too much about the truth of an issue. "You are thinking of the beautiful Lady Isma. Ah, I am pained, my lord! I thought she enjoyed my advances! By the gods of Tandaria, she was only toying with me!"

Balder Khan smiled to himself, pleased that he was victorious over the Mazidaran in at least one important arena. But he seemed satisfied that the Prince had proven his point. "Go on with your story, Prince Akkra. How did the conflict get resolved?"

It was Akkra's turn to be pleased. He was glad that Balder Khan was that concerned about Isma's affections. It had been obvious to the Prince that Isma was deeply in love with the Conqueror, and nothing could be better than reciprocated love.

"Realizing that his presence in the homelands of the mountain clans would only continue to cause trouble, Taja Dak decided to abandon the Zepores once more. This time, he came south, towards Tandaria. He had gotten the People to agree to send only a few of their members. In addition, they agreed that once I reached manhood, they would no longer maintain their protection over me.

"To that end, they have kept their promise. At this time, there remains only one of the People from the original group that came with us. When he dies, we shall see no more of the People in Tandaria."

"With the exception of you," said Balder Khan quietly.

The Prince shrugged. "I suppose so, though I know so little of the ways of the People that I hardly think of myself as being one of them."

"This tale is very interesting, Prince Akkra, but it hardly answers my question. What do you know of the barbarians and what part do you play?"

"I will come to that, Conqueror," said the Prince. "For many years after my father and his followers left the Zepores, there was peace in the mountains. The People returned to the Forbidden Zone, and those that came with us to Tandaria were no threat. My father also ensured that there would be no more problems by keeping my existence pretty much a secret. And the People who still survived were also kept out of sight."

"Prisoner, eh?" asked the Magar.

"By the gods of Tandaria, no!" protested Akkra. "Any of us was free to come and go at will. We simply decided as a clan that it would be better to lead a more private existence. Being made ruler of Mazidar certainly made that easier. In any event, we no longer had any problems with the mountain tribes.

"Until one day a couple of years ago. A messenger arrived from a delegation of the mountain tribes, asking my father to return to the Zepores. You can imagine our surprise when this happened. Almost twenty years earlier, they had practically forced us into exile and now they wanted us back!"

"But why?" asked the Conqueror.

"The People were starting to encroach on the mountain tribal lands. My father had seen this coming when he had lived among the people, for their population was beginning to expand. It was only a matter of time before they started eyeing the lands beyond the Forbidden Zone.

"At first, the tribes simply fought the encroaching bands of the People. After a while, however, the numbers coming in were too great. More pitched battles began to occur. Unfortunately, the tribes did not have a chance. The Changelings had too many mysterious powers, and while they did not have superior numbers, they were able to frighten the mountain folk considerably. Many battles were won simply by one or two of the People destroying a few trees by their strange magic; the tribe opposing them would pack up its belongings and move on.

"This had a very serious impact on the peace that existed between the tribes. They war naturally enough, but when they start competing for space, the warfare becomes even greater. This warfare continued for almost ten years before enough of the tribal elders realized what was happening. It took many more years before they were able to sit down together and begin to trust one another. Once they did, they realized that they were facing a common enemy.

"They tried to combat the People, but the Changelings proved superior in every way. And while the encroachment of the People was not severe, it was enough to alarm the tribes. The elders met many times to find a way to solve the problem. Finally, someone recalled my father, and his association with the People many years earlier. They sent scouts into the far corners of the Zepores and Tandaria, searching for my father. Finally, they found him and asked him to negotiate with the Changelings. Although Taja Dak did not want to get involved with this problem, the plight of his people moved him. He began to parley with both sides, but it became apparent that the pressures on the People to move ever south were not to be abated.

"Then, one night, in a dream, the gods spoke to my father and told him how to solve the problem.

"He presented the idea to the elders of all the tribes. At first, they totally rejected the idea. But a few courageous ones argued that Taja's plan was the only alternative they had. Eventually, all of the major tribes agreed to this daring idea."

"What was the idea, Prince Akkra?" demanded the Conqueror impatiently.

"To migrate from the Zepores on the west to the Nasilam Steppes on the east!"

Balder Khan was momentarily speechless. Finally, the shock having worn off only slightly, he found his tongue. "But that means thousands of barbarians will have to cross Lodar!"

The Mazidaran was slightly amused by the consternation his revelation aroused in the Conqueror. But he knew that he couldn't allow the War Minister of Lodar to misinterpret the events that were to happen.

"Yes, Balder Khan, they will cross the northern parts of the Lodaran Empire. But listen carefully to my words, Magar, for on these words hangs thousands of lives.

"We have carefully chosen the route the mountain folk will travel. It bypasses all major cities, most of the large villages, and many of the smaller ones. The tribal leaders have agreed to keep their people under control, and will do so as long as they are not attacked. There is only one man in Lodar I can trust to show restraint at such a time. That man obviously is you."

Balder Khan laughed, as he contemplated the enormity and audacity of the Mazidaran's plan. "But surely, Your Highness, you heard the Emperor's words. I must head south, to protect Lodar against possible Mazidaran treachery. If only Mith Cor knew that the primary danger really was from the north."

"You must not tell him!" insisted Akkra, his voice sharp with concern. "And further, you must not go south. You have to keep your Outer Army up here in the north, between Lodar and the mountain tribes. We estimate the tribes will take at least four days to cross Lodar. We need as much of that time as possible to cross unhindered. If any problems develop, you will have your warriors there to provide a buffer."

Balder Khan shook his head. "You are asking me to disobey my Emperor. That is treason!"

"It is not treason to save lives, Balder Khan," said the Prince quietly. Despite the cool air and the increasing breezes from the south, Akkra was flushed. If he could not convince the Conqueror to go along with Mazidar's plan, the entire venture might disasterously collapse. "There is no other way. If the hill people do not move to Nasilam, where do you think they will go to?" He nodded, as he saw the answer form in the Conqueror's mind. "That's right, Lodar. Were that to happen, there would be continual strife and bloodshed, until all of the hill people are dead or they have succeeded in taking over Lodar. This way, there is a chance to avoid all of that."

"Why didn't you discuss this with the Emperor?"

The Prince spat contemptuously. "By the time the Emperor got his squabbling ministers to agree on anything, the hill people would already be on the plains of Tandaria, terrorizing village after village. There would be no options at that time."

"It seems there are no options at this time," said the Conqueror quietly. "You have eliminated all of them."

The Prince nodded. "I had to, Balder Khan. The survival of too many people is at stake. If we don't act decisively now, the flow of events will carry us like twigs in a flood. This way, we have a chance to put our marks on history. If you do as we suggest, you will have in effect saved Lodar from possible invasion. The fact that an invasion was never contemplated is immaterial."

The Conqueror smiled wryly to himself. "You paint a pretty picture, Prince Akkra. The only flaw in your canvas is that I might find myself beheaded before I can become the Savior of Lodar!"

Akkra thought back to their previous meeting, many years earlier. Tandran Dro had urged them to put their trust in Balder Khan, despite the obvious arguments that the warrior was no more than a peasant who had gone far in military service. Tandran Dro had seen much more, and though he had never been very explicit, the Mazidaran War Minister had insisted that Balder Khan would be essential in securing permanent peace between Lodar and Mazidar. Akkra trusted the old Changeling's opinions. After all, the ability to judge the potential of a person was Dro's talent. That talent had proven itself over and again, without fail.

Five years earlier, Akkra had still doubted Dro's predictions. Now, he had no hesitancy about trusting the man's predictions. Tandran Dro now predicted that Balder Khan would aid in both helping Mazidar relocate the mountain people and he would be instrumental in creating a new order in Lodar.

Akkra's only problem was convincing Balder Khan to follow the destiny towards which he was heading.

Akkra had once suggested that if the event were destined to occur, why go through the motions of trying to make it happen. Tandran Dro had laughed. He tried to explain that all events were interlocked. Not doing one event led automatically to other events and a different destiny. Tandran Dro's certainty regarding any particular outcome was a function of how many enroute influencing events he could see. In some cases, the threads that led to a particular outcome were quite clear. These events occurred, regardless of how much individuals tried to avoid the action. In other cases, the pathways to the future were clouded and diffuse. When this happened, there were usually many alternative ways of getting there and even alternative futures.

Try as he could, Akkra had never been able to get the War Minister to predict Akkra's future, or even the future of anyone known to either of them. Whether the Changeling could do this or not was anyone's guess. He simply refused ever to reveal what information he had, if any at all.

"We are asking you to take another risk, Balder Khan, much as we asked you five years ago. You are a man of war, Conqueror. Yet you also know what it means to have peace. Would you say the intentions of Mazidar are warlike or peaceful?"

The Conqueror barked out a cynical laugh. "Who can answer that, Your Highness? Even you cannot answer fully for Mazidar's intentions, since a change in events might cause a change in your intentions. My instincts tell me that I can trust you, though my trust goes only that far. I have never met your father. I have never met the ministers that advise him. How can I trust them? You could very well be the unwitting dupe of a plot that has taken years to hatch." He shook his head, unwilling to fall into Akkra's logical traps. "When I view the military implications, my instincts go another direction. You are asking me to put several Lakaris of my army up north, far from Mazidar's troops, to protect Lodar against an hypothetical horde of barbarians that only you can vouch for. That is absurd. Our entire southern border would be defenseless. Mazidar, even with a much smaller army, could cut Lodar in half. Even if we were to regain the lost territory, the price would be horrendous. And while we are pre- occupied with Mazidar, the other vassel kingdoms would surely take the opportunity to break away. Besides, Your Highness, if protecting Lodar is really your concern, the Emperor has insisted that the Inner Army will patrol the northern sectors. They can defend against your barbarians."

Akkra's eyes pleaded with the Lodaran. "No, that is the worst possible plan, Balder Khan. Nar Sidthar cannot be trusted. He has his eyes on the throne of Lodar, and would surely take this opportunity to advance himself. When the mountain tribes start across the plains of Lodar, he will attack and precipitate a battle that might well spell the doom of Lodar! All we are asking, Balder Khan, is that you put at least enough warriors up there to keep the Inner Army from causing war."

The Conqueror thought about it. "There is one way to ensure that nothing might happen," he said.

Akkra raised his eyebrows, studying the Conqueror's face. Then a cloud covered the moon, and Balder Khan's features were hidden in shadows. "What would that be?"

"We could hold you as a personal hostage. If you were my prisoner, I would feel more comfortable trusting Mazidar."

Akkra bit his lip. "You are right, that would be a strong guarantee. Unfortunately, it cannot be. You see, I have to be with the mountain tribes. These tribes have been warring for centuries. They are only traveling together in peace because a greater threat endangers them. I am the only force that truly binds them together, Balder Khan. If I am not with them, I do not know what problems might develop."

The Conqueror slapped his leg. "Surely, Prince Akkra, you jest! What a tale you expect me to believe. What kind of a fool do you take me for? If, in fact, there is a barbarian horde in the mountains, now you tell me that you are going to lead it! My lord, you have imbibed too much Lodaran ale. It has dulled your senses." His voice hardened sharply, and took on a determined and threatening tone. "I have not lost my senses, Prince Akkra. I am more determined than ever to follow my Emperor's dictates, since I believe them to be in Lodar's best interests. And if you do plan any treachery, may the gods of Tandaria protect you!"

Balder Khan stood up and walked over towards his horse. Even in the shadows, Akkra could see the conflict of indecision in the Conqueror's movements. "I should arrest you, Akkra, but against my better judgement, I am going to pretend I haven't seen you tonight. I still do not know what kind of treachery you are up to, if any at all. But I give you fair warning, Prince of Mazidar. Stop trying to manipulate me like a puppet on a string!"

He jumped up onto his horse and turned it back towards Lodar. He rode up to where Akkra was now standing. "Frankly, Akkra, you puzzle me. On the one hand, I feel that I can trust you. Yet --" He shook his head in confusion. "Return to Mazidar, Akkra. Go back, rule your kingdom for as long as the gods permit, and leave all this alone."

Akkra shook his head. "I must do what I can, Balder Khan. It is my duty and my destiny."

Balder Khan shrugged. "I cannot promise anything, Akkra, but I will do what I can. May the gods be willing, but I hope we both don't end up in prison because of your scheme."

"Nothing can go wrong," Akkra insisted, his tone more confident than his convictions. "The next time I see you, Conqueror of Lodar, it will be a time of rejoicing for all."

Balder Khan stared down at the Prince, his face stern and serious. Then he smiled. "I guess ultimately, we are all playthings of the gods, aren't we?" He rode swiftly off, leaving Akkra no time at all to answer him. The Prince stared down the rode into the receding shadow, then mounted his own horse. He turned towards the north and continued on the road to Jadpat.

Prince Akkra had been riding only an hour, the wind pushing him along the road, when the storm broke.

Like most summer storms in north Tandaria, the storm started with an intermittant staccato of raindrops exploding against the dry, dusty road. Then, as the large drops finished their job of forcing clouds of dust into the air, the brunt of the storm hit. A torrent of water pounded the dust back into the road. Hungrily, the parched earth, waiting expectantly for the rains for the previous several months, absorbed every drop the skies had to offer.

Visibility, already difficult with the moon hidden by the massive black clouds, became impossible. Akkra loosened the reins, allowing the horse to lower its head and avoid the force of the rain. Both rider and horce continued along the muddy track, trusting to instinct and luck to remain on the road.

The temperature dropped rapidly. Akkra wrapped his cloak more tightly about him, though it soon became soaked through.

He knew he should find shelter, but still he pressed on, knowing that his progress was slow. He felt that he had to keep traveling or he would be too late to prevent some unforeseen disaster.

Finally, the strength of the storm, the total lack of visibility, and the exhaustion he could feel in his horse told him that he better wait out the storm. He began to search the side of the road for a village or farm where he could take shelter.

He had to travel another half hour before he spotted a dull yellow glow through the downpour. At first he was not sure that it was a light, but he headed towards it anyway. As he drew closer, the light took on more substance and warmth, promising dryness and shelter from the raging storm.

He found a lean-to near the building, which turned out to be a Mail House, one of many that serviced the communication needs of the Empire. It was an idea that Akkra had admired about Lodar and intended to adopt in Mazidar. Riders who carried the mail from one part of the empire to another needed places where they could stay and be protected against natural or man-made harm. The Mail Houses provided shelter and living accomodations for the couriers. Usually they were staffed by retired clerks of the Empire or trusted peasants, who ensured that the House was adequately maintained and that there was food for the riders to eat. Not infrequently, they also maintained a small stable of extra horses, in case one of the courier's mounts became disabled.

Akkra did not expect to find many horses his far towards the mountains. Surprisingly, however, there were already three horses in the lean-to.

Akkra removed his horse's saddle, blanket, and bridle. He wiped his horse down as well as he could, and made sure that there was oats in the feed trough for the horse to eat. He went over to the other three horses and examined them. They were still wet, as much from the foamy sweat on their flanks as from the rain. He check the saddles that had been thrown on the ground near the edge of the lean to. They did not appear to be the serviceable saddlewear of the mail couriers. Akkra could not believe that any couriers, who depended so heavily on the reliability of their horses, would take such poor care of them.

No, thought Akkra to himself, the people inside do not carry the mail. Nor were they warriors. Even the poorly disciplined warriors of the Inner Army are better trained than this, he thought sarcastically. Only the rich would have such a callous disregard for their animals.

He stepped out into the rain and made his way towards the front door of the building. The storm had gotten worse, if such were possible, and now the sky was alternately white with sheets of lightning and pitch dark as the rain and clouds blotted out all light. The thunder of the lightning crashed through the forest as if someone had dropped the entire range of the Zepore Mountains only a short distance away.

Akkra continued to pound on the door, competing with the booming thunder for the attention of those inside.

Finally the door edged open a cautious crack. An old man peered fretfully through the narrow slit. "Go away," he whined, his voice cracking in the wind. "I have no room."

"Open up, little father," insisted Akkra. "This is no night to send a weary traveler packing."

"Sleep in the stable, if you must," said the house keeper. "I have no more room." He tried to push the door shut, but Akkra thwarted his efforts. With a violent push, Akkra forced the door open, the old man simply not strong enough to keep him out.

The cottage consisted of the main room, filled with a dining table, several woven rope cots, a few chairs, and a storage cabinet. Pictures of various Lodaran and Tandarian gods adorned the walls. One bed contained several rolled-up bed rolls. A large trunk was pushed against a side wall. The floor was wet near the trunk, yet the trunk itself appeared dry. Two doors led to back rooms, presumably another sleeping room and a kitchen.

There were two men and a boy in the room. The boy did not look like he belonged to the men, so there must be another person to account for the third horse. Akkra searched for the third, but there was no sign of anyone. Both men were standing when Akkra entered. One, a look of shock frozen on his face, began to draw his sword. His companion put a hand on the man's wrist, desisting him from pulling out his weapon. The calm companion spoke quickly.

"If you be a traveler, sir, welcome. If you be a brigand, beware that my friend and I are able swordsmen. We will tolerate no treachery here."

Akkra thought he recognized one of the men, but he could not put name and face together. He was certain, however, that they were both Lodaran nobles, whom he had either seen in his partying in Lodar, or at the Imperial reception. The calm one held out his arm, palm upward, in a token of friendship. Akkra placed his hand, palm down, on the proffered hand.

Smiling, the confident one invited Akkra to sit at the table with them. "Another flagon of ale, old man, and some food for our weary traveler." he said. His voice was tinged with a sinister warning, or was Akkra only imagining that? The old man hurried into a back room, then returned promptly with another goblet of ale. He retreated to a back corner and hunched down on the floor. The boy tried to join him, but one of the two men stopped him, indicating that the boy had to stay near the table. Akkra did not have to be an astute observer to realize that the boy was frightened by the two men.

Akkra slowly removed his wet cloak and drapped it on a hook near the door. He sat down opposite the two men, but in a place where he could see the door through which he came and the doors to the two back rooms. He had no idea where the third individual was, but he did not intend on being ambushed. He kept a wary eye on the old man, but he was convinced that the old man was not allied with the two noblemen.

He examined the two nobles. The first one had recovered from his surprise. This one had a round, lumpy face, still boyish in appearance and scared from rough shaving. He also had a recent scratch on his cheek. He had dark brown eyes that peered from deep within shadowed eye sockets. His lips were thick and puffy, tending to curl down when he smiled. He had thin brown hair, starting to recede up his forhead. Despite his fat face, the man was not overly heavy. He had a barrel body that probably was quite strong, if the man were in condition.

The confident companion was somewhat taller, leaner, his face pinched in at the cheeks, with a long, jutting jaw, a narrow nose, and soft, womanly eyes. His hair was black and shiny, as was his moustache and beard. Like many Lodaran nobles, he wore his beard rolled up.

"Where are you hailing from, traveler? And how do you call yourself?" asked the tall one.

"I am known as Raj. Just now, I am coming from south of Lodar," replied Akkra. "And yourselves?"

"I am Bal, and this is Than. We are peddlers, selling our wares to these simple forest folk." He gestured towards the trunk.

Akkra glanced casually towards the trunk, certain now that the man was lying. There were three saddles in the shed, indicating three riders. He was sure that the trunk had not been out of this room for a considerable period of time.

"What do you peddle?" he asked casually.

"Cloth." "Scissors." Both spoke at once, then eyed one another in surprise and annoyance. "We sell both cloth and scissors," explained the tall one.

Akkra smiled, and stood up, heading for the trunk. "Ah, I appreciate fine cloth," he said. "Perhaps you can show me your wares."

The short man looked panicked. The one calling himself Bal stood up and gently but forcefully directed Akkra back to the table. "Perhaps in the morning friend. It is late, we have had a hard day traveling through these forests. And though it would please us to show you our fine samples, we are too weary to haggle over prices."

Akkra allowed himself to be led back to the table. He put just enough resistence in his body, however, to get a feel for how strong the tall man was. While the short one was out of shape, Bal was well-conditioned. In a fight, Akkra knew which of the two he had to worry about.

The two men did not seemed inclined to talk, but stared nervously at Akkra as he finished off the plate of lentils and wheat bread. The food was cold, but Akkra discovered that he was hungry. As long as the two Lodarans did not do anything, Akkra was content to finish off the unexpected meal.

Meanwhile, the anxiety of the two men became greater. The one known as Than was gesturing surreptitiously to his companion, who was ignoring him.

Finally, Akkra pushed his plate back from him, and leaned back in his chair. "Old man, that was good," he said. The patter of rain on the roof had lessened considerably. "The rain seems to be slacking off. How about having your boy go out and tend to my horse? I may be leaving soon." He pulled out a gold coin and tossed it on the table. The boy looked at the old man and then the coin, undecided about what actions to take.

"No!" insisted Than, grasping the boy's arm. "He can't go!"

The old man stood up, worried. A glance from Bal was sufficient to force him reluctantly back down on the floor. "The boy is with us, friend," he said to Akkra. "If you must have your horse tended, the old man can do it."

"Forgive my misunderstanding," said Akkra. He was certain now that the two men were holding the boy captive, forcing the bungalow keeper to do their bidding. He had been unable to get the boy out of the room, in case there was violence. Now he had to find a way to get the two men far enough away from the old man and the boy to ensure that they did not get hurt.

He thought about just putting on his cloak and riding off, but one persistent question kept gnawing at him. What were they hiding? Akkra glanced at the chest. The answer is contained in that box, he thought. And whatever it is, it is not good.

If the old man and the boy had not been involved, Akkra probably would have just left, content to leave the two men up to their own nefarious plots. But Akkra was convinced that the old man and the boy were fearful for their lives. Nor did Akkra doubt that their fear was well-founded. These two nobles would just as soon slit the throats of a peasant as they would a rabbit or a wild boar.

Akkra could not find any way to break the impasse that existed, when one was found for him. A low moan, as though someone were in crying in their sleep, came from the chest. Akkra immediately stood up and went over to the chest. The box had been hastily tied with a rope. The Prince pulled out his sword to cut the bonds. He had just raised his sword to make the cut, when he heard a commotion behind him. He turned in time to see the two Lodaran nobles racing towards him, their own swords drawn and ready. The boy lay sprawled on the floor, where he had been pushed by Than.

Akkra parried the first thrust, and countered with a jab of his own. Both came at him at once, but from the same angle. They got in each other's way, though Bal kept trying to push the short, fat one away from him so that he would have room to maneuver. Akkra kept brushing their blades away, thrusting sharply at exposed eyes and face, until he could get a telling cut in. Finally, his chance came. The fat one tripped, losing his balance. As he fell to the floor, he grapped at his companion for stability, causing Bal to miss a parry. Akkra's blade pushed home, sinking deep into the man's chest. The one called Than saw his friend die. He quickly regained his feet and raced for the door, dropping his weapon in his haste to escape. Akkra struggled to pull his sword from the dead man's chest, but by the time he got to the door, the other one was riding back towards Lodar on one of the unsaddled horses.

Akkra ran into the light drizzle to pursue the Lodaran, but then he stopped. There was still a possibility that the man lying on the floor was not dead. He might still harm the old man and the boy. If Akkra pursued the one, the other might still present an immediate danger. Also, if he were alive, Akkra would have to tend to his wounds so that he wouldn't die.

He headed back into the cabin, still unsure if he had made the right choice.

Akkra checked the wounded man. He died as Akkra was leaning over him. Akkra verified that nothing could be done to save him. He called over to the old man and the boy to see how they were. They continued to hunch against one another in the corner of the room, too firghtened to come into the center of the room. Otherwise, they were alright. Akkra ignored them and returned to the box. With quick cuts, he severed the ropes, then lifted the lid.

Inside, he found a body, wrapped in blankets. He tried pulling some of the blankets off, but he could get only a few loosened. These were enough to reveal a woman's body, scantily clad. Her body was still shivering from exposure to the rain. He lifted the woman out and laid her on one of the cots. He cut away some of the ropes binding the blanket around her body and head. Finally he was able to uncover her face. He stopped, his mouth falling open in amazed dread.

The woman was Princess Nest-kor!

He cut through the ropes that bound up her wrists and feet, rubbing them to bring back circulation. He shouted for the old man to get some tea brewed. At first the old man hesitated, then he hurriedly completed the task. Akkra had the boy bring some clothes, which the two of them then put on the Princess. At first the boy seemed shy about undressing and then dressing the Princess, but once the task was started, he did not hesitate to provide as much assistance as Akkra needed. Sometimes, thought the Prince, he provides too much assistance.

The old man returned with the tea. When he saw the Princess, he dropped the tea in his haste to bow on the ground.

"Do you know who this woman is, old man?" Akkra asked.

The old man nodded, his eyes revealing the terror of discovering the Princess in his bungalow. "She is Princess Nest-kor. I have seen her just this past summer when I went to Lodar for the Festival of Colors."

Akkra nodded, gesturing to the old man to clean up the broken teapot and cups. Now Akkra wished that he had continued his pursuit of the nobleman who escaped. Surely that one would return to Lodar, clamining Akkra and the old man were involved in the abduction. If only he hadn't hesitated! He might have caught the one and still been able to ensure that the two in the cabin were safe. "That's right. The man who escaped will return to Lodar or the nearest military post and send people to rescue her from the people who abducted her. Right now, old man, those people are the three of us."

"But we didn't do anything," protested the caretaker.

"No matter, father. The guilty man will try to lay the blame at our feet. How much do you think our word will count in a Lodaran court against a nobleman? We will lose our heads regardless of how innocent we may be."

The old man nodded, realizing what kind of a plight he was in. He tried to comfort the boy.

Akkra sympathized with them. As he thought of it, however, he began to wonder if the Lodaran would go to the guards. If they had abducted the Princess, perhaps they knew she could recognize them. If that were the case, they would not go to the authorities, but would contact their own henchmen, people who were part of the conspiracy to abduct her in the first place.

On the other hand, they had kept her head covered, and that implied that she might not recognize them. In that case, they could go to the authorities and claim that they had accidently discovered the abduction. Since the one who escaped seemed to recognize Prince Akkra, they would surely indict Mazidar in this plot. The fact that Akkra was supposed to be heading back to Mazidar on the southern road wouldn't help him, since Balder Khan could collaborate that Akkra was up in the northwest.

Balder Khan couldn't say anything, however, without implicating himself. But that wouldn't stop him from inciting the flames of passion against Mazidar.

However, he couldn't worry about that now. He had to handle the most immediate problems first. The old man and the boy would have to flee, else they would be executed.

He tried to discuss the situation with them. "Old man, you and the boy must get away from here. Do you have any place you can go where you will be safe?"

The caretaker shook his head slowly. "No master, there is no place but this."

Akkra put some gold coins on the table. "Take these, then, and try to head south to Mazidar. Inform any Mazidaran patrols that Akkra has sent you there. They will take care of you."

The old man's eyes glistened at the sight of the money, but he pushed it back. "The road to Mazidar, master, is long and hard. We would not make it. Take us with you."

Akkra stared at him in surprise. "Take you with me? I cannot. I am going into the mountains, and the road there will be arduous and dangerous. You would only slow me down and endanger yourselves."

"We would not slow you down, master. We would serve you in return for your help. As regards the danger, it must surely be safer with you than on our own. The men who kidnapper Her Imperial Majesty would surely track us down and murder us, wouldn't they? Any danger you are going to would be less than what we would face staying in the Empire of Lodar."

Akkra made an exasperated clicking noise. He knew they were right, but he didn't want to admit it. What he really did not want was the added responsibility of two more people, especially now when he was feeling the pressure of his obligations to the tribes beginning to mount. Yet he could not deny the logic of the old man's words. Akkra knew that if he left these two behind, he was leaving them to die.

He also knew that at least one or two of the tribes would be willing to take these two into their clans and provide them a home.

"Alright, old man, you and the boy can come with me. But I am warning you, it will be a rough trip. Once you decide to join me, you only turn back at your own risk." He tried to sound sterner than he really felt. "Is that clear to you?"

The old man smiled, and even the boy broke into a grin. "Yes, master, we understand."

Akkra now turned his attention to the other problem he had, the Princess. Nest-kor had to be returned to Lodar.

He paused, as the full implications of this dilemma invaded his mind. He could not afford to take time now to return Nest-kor to the Imperial City. The hill tribes were in the final stages of preparing for their trek down the mountain slopes and across the plains of Lodar. There were already reports of conflict between the tribes. If he did not get up there to restore order, the entire mission could fail, as warfare broke out among the tribes.

He considered leaving Nest-kor in the bungalow, trusting to the gods and her own wits to defend her and get her safely back to Lodar. He rejected that idea almost immediately. The gods did not do much protecting unless the person was able to provide a minimum of self-protection. Nest-kor clearly was not capable of that. Also, the men responsible for her abduction in the first place would come back here to try to locate her. If they found her, they would probably kill her. Whatever value she had as a captive, she now posed a greater threat as a freed captive.

He had only one option with her also. He had to take her with him, and hope that he could find an opportunity later on to return her to Lodar.

He gave orders to the caretaker and the boy to ready the horses in the stable. They were short one horse, so the Princess would have to ride with him on his horse or on the horse with the boy. He decided it would be better for her to ride with him, though as soon as he decided that, he wondered why the idea suddenly seemed so appealing to him. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind as being inappropriate.

The boy came in a few minutes later, saying the horses were ready. The old man had a sack of provisions collected together. Akkra gave those to the boy to tie onto one of the horses. He and the old man then buried the dead nobleman in a shallow, muddy grave. The site was clearly marked so that the man's relatives could dig up the body and go through the necessary last rites before cremating the body. Actually, Akkra did not care what happened to the man's soul, but the old caretaker insisted that the body be buried so the soul could not pursue them.

After what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, they were ready to leave the bungalow. Akkra picked up the still sleeping Nest-kor and carried her out to his horse. The rain was only a light drizzle, annoying but nothing more. He placed her on his saddle, and climbed up behind her.

As he wrapped his arms around her slim waist, an alarming thought occured to him. He was now holding in his arms the one person who could spell the destruction of all his and his father's plans.