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bag for a collection spoon and vial. Careful not to allow any to come in contact with his skin, he scooped a small amount of the black fluid into the vial and sealed it.
    Over the next hour, he and the old man worked in silence. It seemed only fitting they do so, out of respect for the deceased. To Raidan, the dissection of a body must always be done with reverence, for only through careful examination, using the logic of science, would its inner workings be revealed, and by extension, the mind of The One.
    After collecting the samples he needed, Raidan washed his hands in a basin provided by his host, then helped the old man replace the corpse in its niche. He stowed his specimens with care in his satchel, then fished out a small leather pouch. He upended it and three coins—two gold and a silver—clinked onto his open palm.
    “The gold is for the widow. See that she gets it. The silver is for your trouble, healer.”
    The old man nodded and folded the coins into his gnarled fist. “Thank you, milord,” he murmured, bowing deeply. “It has been an honor to assist you.”
    “Let’s hope tonight’s work yields some answers. The fate of our people could depend on it.”
    Raidan lifted his bag to his shoulder and collected his cloak from the peg by the door. He then followed the old man back up the tunnel to the outer entrance, leaving the dead farmer to rest in the chilly darkness.
    ***
    The following morning dawned gray and cool. Fat clouds, heavy with rain, scudded by overhead, carried north on stiff winds from their birthplace over the western ocean. Raidan sat on a bench in the shelter of the inn’s large covered porch, wrapped in his cloak, impatient to be away.
    Out in the inn’s front yard, the prince’s entourage bustled back and forth, readying their horses for departure. Raidan sighed irritably and rose to his feet.
    What is taking so long? Where is my horse?
    He paced along the length of the porch, attempting to rein in his temper, self-aware enough to know that lack of sleep contributed to his ill humor. An outburst now would be undignified and unfair.
    “My lord prince!” Raidan’s aide Kasai trotted across the yard to the porch. He sketched a quick bow. “Your horse has a loose shoe,” he explained between quick breaths. “The inn has no on-site blacksmith, so someone’s been sent to the next village to fetch one.” The man bowed again. “I’m sorry for the delay, your Highness.”
    Raidan cursed. Kasai kept his gaze fixed on his boots. Raidan took a deep breath. “I know this isn’t your fault. These things happen. It’s been a hard week for all of us. How long do you think it’ll be?”
    Cautiously, Kasai looked up. “I can’t say for sure, my lord, but the village is not far and the stable boy left right away. It shouldn’t be too long. Perhaps you’d rather wait inside where it’s warmer?”
    Raidan nodded, temporarily mollified. He followed Kasai back into the inn’s common room and commandeered the most comfortable chair while his aide called for service.
    A few moments later, the innkeeper herself appeared and scurried over, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached. A cloud of worry surrounded her like a fog. Raidan’s eyes narrowed. The woman bowed and asked, “What can I bring you, your Highness?”
    “A mug of your best beer,” the prince responded, then asked a question of his own. “Mistress, even a person with no Talent at all would be able to see quite clearly how troubled you are. I hope neither I nor any of my people have been the cause of your discomfiture.”
    The innkeeper, a solidly built woman with silver-streaked black hair, briskly shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord, no!” she exclaimed, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been most gracious, my lord, no trouble at all…” Her voice trailed off, and Raidan sensed she was barely holding herself together.
    “Tell me what has got you in such a state, then,” he prodded in a gentle tone. The woman’s