"How far to Capital City?" he asked Khadgar, riding beside him. The villagers had offered them the use of what few mounts and carts they had, which had proven just enough to manage. Lothar had hesitated about taking any more from the generous villagers but had finally accepted, knowing it would speed their process immeasurably. And time was of the essence.

"A few days, perhaps a week," the wizard replied. "I don't know this part of the country that well but I remember it on the maps. We should see the city's spires in five days at the most. Then we will have to pass through Silverpine Forest, one of the great wonders of Lordaeron, to skirt Lordamere Lake. The city stands along its north shore."

Khadgar fell silent again and Lothar studied his companion. He worried about the young man. When first they'd met he'd been impressed by the wizard's composure and easy self—confidence, and astonished at his youth. He had been only seventeen, little more than a boy, and already a wizard in his own right—and the first Medivh had ever deigned to accept as an apprentice! Subsequent encounters had shown him that Khadgar was bright, stubborn, focused, and friendly. He'd found himself liking the boy, the first time that he'd felt such friendship toward a wizard since—well, since Medivh himself. But after the events at Karazhan…

Lothar shuddered, remembering the ugly, nightmarish conflict. He had found himself, with Khadgar, the half—orc Garona, and a handful of men, against Medivh himself. Khadgar had administered a lethal blow to his master out of necessity but it had been Lothar who had removed his old friend's head, a head he had protected many times in their youth. Back when he and Medivh and Llane had been friends and companions.

Lothar shook his head to drive away the tears. He had grieved many times on their long sea voyage, but still it felt as if the pain and rage and sorrow would overwhelm him. Llane! His best friend, his companion, his king.