ust before darkness enfolded the forested valley, Maziba and Khaled guided them into a thin stand of spruce and began building a fire while Joshaat, the willowy blonde man and the so far nameless woman began erecting a makeshift shelter from oil cloth, fallen boughs and rope. Laela had apparently been told to mind him for she approached him with a wary smile and guided him to a blanket she had spread out on the frosty ground. He was relieved to get off of his feet and could tell they were all footsore and numb with cold after hours of winding down the exposed mountainside.

“Maziba believes I will try to escape,” Mog observed, wishing someone, anyone would talk to him. He was tired of feeling like a pariah.

“According to him, you already tried and succeeded,” Laela said dryly. Her dark eyes glistened warily in the twilight and he could just make out the distinct tracery of a necromancer’s ritual scars upon her olive skin. She was pretty, or had been at one time. Her lips were full and seductive despite being painted an unappealing shade of blood red. She had the high cheekbones and narrow chin of a Krytan as well as the warm musical dialect.

“Ah, you hate me as well,” Mog muttered, cringing away from the disdain, anger and pity that swarmed in the minds of those around him.

“Hate I reserve for those I know,” Laela replied darkly, “I do not know you, Mog Ruith, but I trust Maziba’s opinion in such matters.”

“My path is one of choice,” Mog said flatly, “I chose to abandon it. That was my decision and no one else’s.”

Laela shrugged.

“Far be it from me to question your integrity, I’m not the one who made an eternal oath to a deity.”

Mog burned with embarrassment and anger. What right did these people have to force him to do anything?

“I should be allowed to return to my duties or not of my own accord,” Mog growled.

Laela shrugged dismissively once more. He found her nonchalance annoying as she walked away from him and returned with two bowls of something Khaled had dumped into them from a sealed pot. Mog wrinkled his nose in disgust when she shoved one of the bowls into his hands. The contents smelled strongly of garlic and looked like the oily leavings of a diarrheic bird.

“I suggest you eat it. No one is going to care if you lay awake hungry all night.”

Laela sat down beside him on the blanket and dipped her fingers into her bowl of pungent muck and slurped lumps of the mealy substance noisily. Mog put it aside, deciding that it looked too much like vomit and might lead to such if he were compelled to eat it. The woman shrugged and took his portion as well. By then the shelter was completed and the others were laying out blankets for the night’s repose or warming themselves beside the fire while eating their own portion of the horrible pasty substance.

“I’m curious,” Laela said in a low voice, indicating that she did not want to be overheard, “Why did you run away from your duties? Didn’t you feel the least bit angry about your homeland being destroyed?”

Mog gazed upon her, sensing that her question was honest rather than mocking.

“I am angry, but I was also devastated. I lost my home and my lover.”

“And your faith,” Maziba said darkly, the deep timber of his voice startling Mog for he had somehow appeared beside him without making a sound and without detection by Mog’s inner eye. He found that unsettling, even more so when he saw the coils of silk rope clasped in the man’s hand.

“I do not reject the gods but I see no reason to serve them,” Mog retorted angrily, “Where was Lyssa when her holiest temple was flattened by savages? Where was Grenth when the undead swarmed over Kryta? What of Melandru when her wild places burned? Where was Dwayna’s mercy on the day tens of thousands cried their last? How is it that Balthazar stood mute and dumb while the enemies of mankind slaughtered our kin like animals? Do not speak to me of faith. The gods have abandoned us.”

He was trembling with rage and had taken to his feet. Mog was sick of being judged a coward and infidel. All eyes were turned upon him and the camp was still and silent. He detected a faint tremor of fear in all but Maziba who merely folded his arms and gazed upon Mog impassively.

“At least you have passion enough to value your life. This may serve you well in the days to come. Hold out your hands.”

“Go rot somewhere. I give you my word that I will not harm anyone.”

“A man who breaks his word with the gods would have no compunction about breaking it with mere mortals,” Maziba snapped, “You will be bound.”

“I give you my word that if you touch me, I will hex you into oblivion,” Mog shouted, “Where exactly am I going to run in this godforsaken wilderness? What would it profit me to kill you in your sleep when I would die of exposure soon after?”

“Let him be,” said Laela with her usual flat voice. She interspersed herself between Maziba and Mog but spoke loudly enough for the others to hear, “Cruelty will not persuade him to help us later.”

Maziba nodded and strode back toward the fire.

“Come, let me show you where you will sleep before he changes his mind,” Laela said.

Mog followed her into the crude shelter. She gestured toward some blankets that had been laid out on the ground and knelt to draw back the bedding that lay next to his appointed place. He noted that she did not disrobe but intended to sleep while wearing her boots and thick fur-lined outer coat. The air was still cold and the ground hard with ice beneath the oil-cloth floor. Mog followed her lead and lay down, drawing the blankets over him. It was only then he realized how exhausted he was and his eyes grew heavy.

“Thanks for standing up for me,” Mog murmured.

“Don’t mention it,” Laela yawned, “and please don’t prove me wrong.”

“I’m not interested in killing anyone, least of all those upon whom my life depends.”

“You can imagine no cause worth fighting for?” Laela asked softly, once more keeping her voice low.

“I have killed in self-defense and in defense of those I love. I would do so again for that cause.”

Mog rolled onto his side, his back to her and a sense of foreboding in his gut.

“Is that why I was sought for? So I could kill for your cause?”

“In short, yes. I was of the same mind as you when I joined the Shining Blade. I believe when you understand what is at stake, you will also join us of your own free will.”

“I see,” Mog murmured, keeping the outrage from his voice. Suddenly things were a little clearer and he did not like what he saw, “Did Akemi send you to find me?”

“Yes.”

“And she is Shining Blade also?”

“Yes, a very valuable ally and friend in battle,” Laela replied evenly, sensing his anger, “She knew you would not come willingly. Apparently she has sought you for some time but you do not stay in one place for long.”

“How did you find me?”

Laela rolled onto her side to face his back. He could feel her breath against his nape as she whispered.

“Maziba has a special connection with the gods. He and Akemi performed a ritual on the new moon and he took Lyssa’s guise and called for you and then we set forth, following no more than the compass of his faith.”

“I see.”

“Surely if the goddess led him to you it was with good cause.”

“Surely,” Mog replied, keeping the bitterness from his voice.