Lan Martak awoke, hand on sword. The darkness cloaking the tiny glade told him that it was well after sundown, perhaps as late as midnight. The stars wheeled through the sky in unfamiliar patterns and sounds totally unique told him of strange beasts stalking and being stalked.

One sound echoing through the forest brought Lan to his feet. He recognized the whisper of metal against leather, the feet marching, the movement of soldiers.

“Kiska,” he said, shaking the woman awake. He wanted to leave her, but the spell forced him to warn her. “We have company.”

“Ummm,” she said, rubbing her eyes. Those brown eyes snapped wide open when she saw Lan with sword already in hand. No fear showed through, but Kiska tensed. “What is it?”

He silently motioned for her to follow. She gathered their few belongings and trailed behind, making no attempt to move quietly. To Lan and his forest-trained senses, she made more noise than all of Claybore’s grey-clad soldiers.

Lan fought down the urge to use a simple scrying spell. To know the troop numbers, their movement, their positions, would make eluding them so much easier. But he dared not betray his position. In the far distance he “saw” magics stirring, a dim, unsettling sensation for him. Lan had yet to identify the source as Claybore’s magics, but if Lan spotted the use of arcane lore this easily, Claybore would be able to “see” him, also.

Surprise, Lan thought grimly, was his only ally. And a fickle one it was, at best.

He peered around the charred bole of a lightning-struck tree and saw the broken formation of soldiers advancing. They crept forward in waves, the soldiers behind protecting those advancing. Only when the new terrain was adequately scouted did those behind move forward to reconnoiter further.

“They’re armed with bows,” Kiska said. “An odd choice for this world.”

“What do you mean?” Lan demanded.