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the Faerion was never clear. They wanted it back and offered a fortune in gold.
    Word came to King Ian that Baron Treteste would not wait to starve King Yeates out. The battle had started. There would be more death in the coming days, said the birds. Baron Treteste would take the castle by the full moon. So King Ian merely nodded when he heard Tomen's report.
     
    Two days later, a tattered human stumbled into Paglo and fell exhausted near the house of Culver, a young Tuor whose parents had died years earlier, leaving him to fend for himself. He did remarkably well with the help of an older cousin, Tomen, of the Border Guard, and Elise, a comely young lass who had already claimed young Culver for her own.
    Culver had seen few Men close up but knew this one was in serious trouble. He watched the figure, dust settling on the still form. He nudged it with his foot. The human still breathed, but wheezy and weak. He ran for Avolan's hut, a wise and learned Tuor.
    The pounding of his feet on the dirt wove an urgent rhythm not often heard in Paglo. Faces peered out of windows; gardeners paused in their work to see the figure racing by.
    "Avolan! Avolan!" He burst through the door. The old Tuor sat at his table sipping some broth. The interior overflowed with books, boxes, and glass jars and smelled like a tobacco merchant's stall. Avolan's curved pipe sat in its holder, still smoking as he ate.
    "Be still, Culver."
    "But.."
    "Quiet." Avolan inhaled deeply, remembering all the effort used to train Culver to contain his emotions. Avolan shook his head. Perhaps it is for the best. Culver was a poet and not a Wiseman. Avolan sought an apprentice and believed Culver the one, but the young Tuor brought chaos with him.
    "I saw.."
    "No more until you have calmed yourself. It is a wonder you can write your poetry at all. How do you still yourself enough to hear your inner voice? Now, wait until I give you leave to speak."
    Avolan watched Culver calm himself, but the young Tuor still shifted his weight from foot to foot. Avolan shook his head, slapping his chin with his open hand.
    "What is so important?"
    "A human is lying in the road near my house."
    "A soldier?"
    "A woman from the siege. Must have walked through the mountains. A lot of dirt and pine needles."
    "You may be right." Avolan's mind raced through the implications. Would Treteste follow his enemies to finish them off? Who was the woman? How did she get through Treteste's soldiers?
    "She appears injured."
    "A female? You are sure?"
    "Yes. I nudged her with my foot and she moaned. We must help her." Urgently, Culver tugged Avolan's sleeve.
    "We will if we can. Let me gather a few items." Avolan found a couple small amulets and put them in his knapsack. He grasped Culver's arm and they departed.
     
    He hobbled back to Culver's house leaning on his cane and Culver's arm. Avolan leaned over the girl, for that was what she was, counted her pulse, checked her eyes and sent Culver to the King.
    "Sorceress Wynne, if I'm not mistaken," said Avolan, after Culver was out of earshot. He looked long at her. He exhaled. "The Baron took the castle, it appears. The poor thing barely escaped with her life." He began setting out his herbs, mixing them with a stone cup. He lifted her head and poured the mixture down. She coughed then swallowed the entire cup. She tried to sit up, but small firm hands held her down.
    "Good, good. Just relax. That potion will help you sleep and heal. You need to regain your strength before your journey continues."
    She tried to speak, to tell him something, but Avolan would not listen. He put a hand to her mouth, shushing her. She fell silent as the potions took effect.
    Shortly, King Ian arrived with several retainers in tow. Culver trailed the group, for the moment forgotten.
    "Who is she?" asked Ian.
    "I believe she is Wynne, the Sorceress."
    Ian nodded his head. "I heard the Baron did not believe that Blackthorne had stolen the Faerion from King Yeates. He must