He held up a handful of dirt and touched it to his forehead, muttering to himself, "I didn't think my bones'd fine their res' in our lan'..."

Lys wondered how many years it had been. Eight? Nine? She knew Sir Burkhardt continued to fight after the King had fled Gottestag, but the holdouts did not last long. In those days, the Witch Queen's armies did not follow the reliable pattern of fighting from equinox to equinox. They would even fight in the dead of winter, which could not have been much easier on her forces than it was for the kingdoms she invaded. And yet the grand engine of death grinded forward, slowing for a time at best but never stopping its advance. Who could blame Sir Burkhardt for thinking he would never see his native soil again?

Perhaps it would have been better to respect the solemnity of the moment, but Lys could not resist saying something flippant in what was perhaps an ill-advised attempt to lighten the mood.

Sir Burkhardt seemed to take her words more seriously than she intended, balling up his first as he replied, "That I do..."

The effect was not quite her intention, but keeping him focused on their objective was by no means a bad thing, not that she imagined a sober moment went by that he was not thinking about their purpose. The moments when he was not sober, however...

Father Tristram was next to speak up, saying, "Yes, well, speaking of the work to be done, we have gone too far east for you to claim that you mean to sell your sword to the free princes of Bergeny, which leaves you with one other employer."

Sir Burkhardt stood up and eyed the priest, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Ysolde looked to her brother in concern while Lys did much the same for Sir Burkhardt. She knew that they would eventually find themselves at odds with each other, but she was wanting to avoid direct conflict if she could. She looked over to Corothas, who was simply observing the scene impassively. He was not likely to intervene unless he had a compelling reason to do so. Perhaps there was still something Lys could do to calm the tensions.

Stepping between Sir Burkhardt and Father Tristram, Lys said, "Father, it's one thing to go gathering up lost sheep, but surely you can overlook one old goat"

As always, the priest seemed to have an answer for anything you might say. Talking their way out of this did not seem possible and it would be disastrous if things came to blows. Sir Burkhardt had said before that he had no intention of killing a priest, but even if he had since changed his mind, Father Tristram was no common priest. Pitting the old knight against him was an ill match and Lys did not think much of her own chances, not without considerable preparation beforehand and a generous helping of luck. Corothas was another story, but he would not be moved to act unless it suited his purposes.

Despite knowing it was a vain effort, Lys tried again, saying, "Just let us go. Whatever happens, let it be on our heads."

Lys and Sir Burkhardt both froze. How did Father Tristram learn who she was? How long had he known?

A hint of a smirk crossed Father Tristram's lips as he answered the questions Lys asked herself.

He tapped his forehead and Lys took his meaning. He was a mindwalker, and one skilled enough to escape her notice. She had encountered precious few mindwalkers in her life and so her awareness was not so attuned to them as she was to other users of magic. It was a shortcoming of her training that may well have doomed her and Sir Burkhardt both.

Father Tristram continued, "I have my orders, Miss Lys, to keep you from falling into the hands of the Witch Queen, one way or the other."

He pulled a small medal out from under his cassock with the image of a goat being led off by a priest. As his eyes were not as keen as Lys'. Sir Burkhardt had to squint before he could make out what the medal was. His eyes widened once he realized what it was.

At this point, the fact that Father Tristram knew who Sir Burkhardt really was came as no surprise. However, Lys still did not fully understand what these brethren of Father Tristram were supposed to be. She was able to glean more as Sir Burkhardt continued his dispute with Father Tristram.

Sir Burkhardt was not nearly so well equipped to spar with words and simply spat on the ground.

Father Tristram tightened his grip on his crosier and his eyes half-opened, sure proof that he was prepared to act on his threat. Sir Burkhardt reached for the hilt of his sword and Lys could feel her own hands wander toward her knives. Corothas watched on silently with arms crossed.

Looking uncertainly at the scene unfolding before her, Ysolde clutched at Father Tristram's sleeve.

Without turning to her, keeping his eyes fixed on Lys and Sir Burkhardt, Father Tristram said, "Get back, Ysolde."

Although she was not sure that appealing to him would accomplish anything, Lys looked to Corothas and asked him, "Would you like to step in?"

Corothas nodded and said, "Indeed so."

Corothas glanced at Father Tristram, then to Lys and Sir Burkhardt.

He took a step forward. Father Tristram did not retreat, but if you looked closely, you could see that Father Tristram was forcibly suppressing his instinct to withdraw. For someone who understood Corothas' strength, it was no small feat of willpower.

Corothas began to speak, "Tristram, son of..." He paused. "I do not know whose son you are."

Oblivious to the priest's jest, Corothas replied in all seriousness, "Is that so?"

If the situation were not so grave, Father Tristram might have continued the jest, but instead he told Corothas, "If you must call me something, call me by my mother's name. Gwenore."

While keeping Lys and Sir Burkhardt in his line of sight, Father Tristram turned to face Corothas. He attempted to shoo off Ysolde with his free hand, but she continued to cling to him. The priest's face betrayed some annoyance at his sister's stubborn refusal to mind him as he tried to keep her out of danger.

Father Tristram readied his crosier and began to draw power to him. Though nothing could be seen to the naked eye, it was as if the winds had gathered and whipped about him. A slight shift in his weight was all the sign Corothas gave that he was responding in kind. Lys was uncertain about what she should do, but it did not seem like there was any place for her to interfere.

The two vortices of energy swelled and clashed. Lys could feel her knees go weak from the sheer power. However, even before the first spell was cast, Father Tristram was being pushed back. Of course Father Tristram never had any hope of overpowering Corothas. The best he could hope for was some unexpected trick that might slip past Corothas' defenses, or else some desperate last-ditch effort to throw everything he had in attack that would inevitably prove ineffectual. However, that was not what he did. Rather, with a single breath, he released all the power he had been gathering and allowed the rush of energy swirling about Corothas to sweep over him.

Corothas drew his power close, not letting go of it as Father Tristram had done but not building up to an immediate attack either. It was like a swordsman sheathing his blade after his opponent had thrown his weapon to the ground. The two continued to face off for a few tense moments, until that tension was broken by Father Tristram chuckling to himself and shrugging his shoulders.

Lys did not quite lower her guard yet, asking him, "So you'll let us go?"

It seemed just as dangerous and just as foolish to take the priest at his word as it was to take him up on his offer. However, at least if she chose to test him, she might give herself some greater assurance that he could be trusted. That being said, he was likely more skilled than her as a mindwalker and able to deceive even the inner eye. Still, she had to try. If he meant to do her any harm, surely Corothas would see him answer for it and surely Father Tristram knew this. The thought gave Lys some comfort as she plucked up the courage to accept Father Tristram's hand.

She had scarcely braced herself to open the inner eye when purple flames burst from Father Tristram's hand. Their surroundings vanished into an inky void, and when Lys looked upon Father Tristram again, standing in his place was a monster awash in purple flames with skeletal wings sprouting from his shoulders and a horned skull for a face. Lys herself had taken her dreamshape, which she only realized as she looked down at her hand, firmly held in the monster's grip.

Lys could only stare wordlessly at the little tongues of flame floating in the skull's empty eye sockets.

Lys had always felt a certain menace to Father Tristram and now the mask was off. He did not have the same terrifying power of Corothas, but there was also none of the Dragonkin's gentleness.

The monster tightened his grip on Lys' hand. The red glow of the markings on her hand began to turn the purple of the monster's flames and the purple glow slowly worked its way up the markings on her arm. While that was happening, the light of her dreamshape's skin grew dim. It was like a blight slowly spreading through her.

The darkness continued to spread. Although Lys could not say for certain, she had the feeling that once the darkness reached her heart, that would be the end. At best, she would be thrust out of this realm. At worst, it could be the death of her.

She could not simply let herself be pushed away by him. She had to push back. She held her hand to her heart to focus her energies and then channelled them onto her afflicted arm. The red of her markings shone brighter, halting the advance of the purple light and then turning it back. As she reclaimed her arm, this new surge of energy made contact with the monster's hand.

There was a blinding flash and Lys opened her eyes to find herself back in waking world. Father Tristram let go of her hand and leaned on his crosier, not bothering to hide the fact that their encounter had taken a toll on him. Lys herself struggled to remain standing. She held her head, trying to sort through everything that had come to her in that brief moment of true contact.

Lys' mind was still in disarray. There had been so many thoughts and feelings packed into that one moment and already they were slipping through her fingers as if she had grasped at a handful of sand. She tried to draw as much as she could out of it before it was gone. What she was left with was none too certain, but it would be enough.

Answering Father Tristram, Lys said, "If you mean to deceive me, your powers to conceal are greater than mine to reveal."

Lys nodded.