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a suggestion?” he asked.
    Tension left Thord’s face, at least some of it, and he waved the Elf to continue.
    “My scouts have scoured all of the lands east from here to the Kergland Spine. While it is unlikely the Goblins have vanished there is the very real possibility they have altered their route of march. I suggest doubling the scouts and focus on the northern approaches. Fifty thousand enemy soldiers will have left a mass of debris in their wake. We will find them.”
    “For all we know we could be marching right towards them,” Thord replied.
    “Possible, but unlikely,” the Elf countered. His tone was dry, as if analyzing every aspect of the conversation before commenting. Elves were notoriously deliberate in their actions, often taking years to reach conclusions most races couldn’t afford to delay on.
    “How do you mean? We can’t continue the march to Delranan without knowing where our enemy is, Elf.”
    “We won’t. The Goblin army is massive, larger than any other in recorded history. We would know if they were ahead of us. The signs would be unmistakable. Faeldrin and the Minotaurs should rendezvous with us by nightfall. I’m going to take a team of scouts back to the enemy’s last known position and try to determine which way they went. We should return before the dawn. Given your leave, naturally.”
    Thord lacked options. He couldn’t plan accordingly without knowing his opponent’s disposition. He relented. “Very well. Find the Goblins, Aleor. We need the intelligence.”
    The Elf nodded and exited the command tent, leaving the Dwarf steaming over his sudden handicap.

FOUR
    No Rest for the Wicked
    The wagon groaned to a stop in the copse of thin firs shortly before nightfall. Another long day’s march pushed Bahr’s party to their limits. The running engagement with Harnin’s forces had drained their energy, supplies, and forced them off schedule. Each suffered from multiple cuts and scrapes. They lost hours of sleep. The trek across Delranan had proved arduous on enough levels to inspire doubt in the hardiest.
    Bahr climbed down from the wagon, pausing to stretch the pain of sitting on the hard, wooden planks all day away. He was pushing fifty, an age when most people retired and found a life of fishing on a quiet river. Being the brother of the king didn’t allow for that sort of life. Loss and hardship seemed his place in life. His holdings and estate were burned to the ground. All he owned in Delranan was confiscated by Harnin One Eye. His true love, the Dragon’s Bane , was resting in charred pieces in Chadra’s harbor, the crew either dead or pressed into military service. Even his niece, Maleela, was missing.
    Through it all, Bahr continued driving towards the final battle. He’d taken his band of reluctant heroes east and then south to Trennaron in search of a weapon few believed in. Along the way he stumbled into a greater conspiracy threatening the future of the entire world. Bahr considered himself a person of honor. He’d given his word to the wizard Anienam Keiss. One way or another he would lead his group to the ruins of Arlevon Gale. He was committed to the course, no matter how foul the potential end promised to be.
    “We can’t keep on like this, Bahr,” Boen, the big Gaimosian said after he finished brushing his horse down.
    “What choice do we have?” Bahr echoed Boen’s sentiments but couldn’t find a way clear of their dilemma. “Arlevon Gale is still a few days away.”
    “We’re not going to last a few days, not with Harnin’s soldiers constantly hounding us every step of the way. Something needs to change.”
    Bahr threw up his hands. “What? We’ve done all we can to elude Skaning yet they’re still on our trail. It’s not as if we can hide easily. Not with Groge. His tracks alone are larger than the rest of ours combined.”
    Boen grinned at the thought of the Giant youth stumbling along in the wagon’s wake. He’d initially thought the