As the litter continued west past Tammerland, the dark, slow-moving columns of people seemed to stretch on forever. But then he saw a break in the crowd, and for a moment his heart leapt-until the litter drew closer and he realized what he was seeing.

Directly below their flight path, a deep crevasse split the ground. It looked to be at least ten to fifteen meters deep and about one hundred meters across, a V-shaped, jagged scar that snaked its way west as far as the eye could see. Tristan guessed it was recently made: It still smoldered, gray plumes of soot and ash corkscrewing up into the air from its charred black bottom. It was a gruesome, unnatural thing, and it sent a chill down the prince's spine.

Aghast, Tristan looked at Wigg. The wizard's face was dark with worry.

Wigg stuck his head out of the litter and shouted to Traax that he wanted the warriors to change course and follow the smoldering crack wherever it might lead. Then he looked sadly down at his hands and said no more.

A great sense of foreboding rose in Tristan's chest. His gaze followed the strange, snaking catastrophe as the litter flew on toward the setting sun. "The oxen are thirsty, father," aaron said. "can't we all rest for a bit?"

The young man gave each of the two straining beasts a reassuring stroke on the head. The sun was going down. The day had been unusually hot, even for the Season of the Sun. They had been toiling since dawn, yet Aaron's father showed no sign of stopping. Finally Darius pulled hard on the reins that lay over his shoulders and slowed the oxen and plow to a halt.

Glad to rest, Aaron of the House of Rivenrider jumped down. Looking back, he saw the hard-won rows of rich soil that they had scratched into the earth. Before long those rows would be filled with the waving stalks of wheat and barley that he and his family would sell at the farmers' market in Tammerland.