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after a time just as he had grown tired of everything. He felt a strong desire to lie down, wrap his cloak about him and sleep.
    He did things to keep awake. He counted his paces-a thousand, then a thousand more; he rubbed his eyes; he hummed several songs all the way through; he reviewed spells and incantations; he thought of food; he thought of women; he thought of his greatest thefts; he counted a thousand more paces; he rehearsed tortures and ignominies; and finally he thought of Evene.
    The high walls soon began to descend.
    He moved among foothills, similar to those where he had entered. There were still no sounds of pursuit-indicating, he hoped, that he would not be caught in the pass. Once he struck open country again there would be more places where he could hide himself.
    There came a rumble from overhead, and he looked up to see that the stars were partly obscured by clouds. They had gathered quickly, he realized; and he remembered Rosalie's promise to try to raise a storm to obscure his trail. He smiled as the lightning flashed, the thunder boomed and the first small drops began to strike about him.
    When he emerged from the pass, he was drenched once more. The storm showed no sign of abating. The visibility was poor, but it appeared that he had entered upon a rock-strewn plain similar to the one he had left on the other side of the mountains.
    He deviated over a mile from what he felt to be his course; that is, the most expedient route of departure from the Baron's realm. Then he sought and found a group of boulders. He encamped on the driest side of the largest and slept.
    He was awakened by the sound of hoofbeats. He lay there listening and determined that it
    came from the direction of the pass. He drew his blade and held it at his side. The rain still fell, but lightly now; the occasional peal of thunder that he heard came from a great distance.
    The hoofbeats grew fainter. He pressed his ear to the ground, sighed, and then smiled. He was still safe.
    Despite the protest of his aching muscles, he rose to his feet and continued on his way. He resolved to travel for as long as the rain continued to obscure as much of his trail as possible.
    His boots sucked holes in the dark mud, and his clothing stuck to his body. He sneezed several times and began to tremble from the cold. Noticing a strange ache in his right hand, he looked down to see that he was still gripping his blade. He dried the weapon on the underside of his cloak and replaced it in the sheath. Through breaks in the cloud-cover, he made out familiar constellations. By these he adjusted his course eastward.
    Eventually, the rain ceased. There was nothing but mud all about him. However, he continued to walk. His clothing began to dry, and the exercise expelled something of the chill he had taken.
    The hoofbeats came and went again, somewhere behind him. Why spend so much effort to hunt down one person? he wondered. It had not been this way the last time that he had
    returned. Of course, he had never come this way before.
    Either I have achieved some special significance during my deathbound time, he decided, or the Baron's men hunt those who return for the sheer sport of it. In either instance, it is best to stay clear of them. What could Rosalie have meant when she said that it does not matter so much if they capture me? It is very strange, if she saw the truth.
    Later he reached higher, rockier terrain, leaving the mud below and behind. He began looking for a place to rest. The area was level, however, and he continued rather than be caught in the open.
    As he struggled along, he saw what appeared to be a distant hedge of stones. Drawing nearer, he noted that they were of a lighter color than the others in the vicinity and that they appeared to be regularly spaced. They did not appear to have been shaped by the forces of nature but hand-hewn by some monomaniac whose problem involved pentagons.
    He found himself a resting place on the dry side of the