Feradnor had sketched a map largely from memory to help him think about the lands around his wife Eltysa's family estate near the Vedous village of Hokatan. The parchment and quill were both crude, but he was happy enough to get them from the generous barkeep whose tavern rested fifty miles north of Rafnious. The establishment was called the Lonely Grove Inn and it was a lonely place, indeed. It sat alongside one of the main roads in a grove of trees, a better location in theory than in practice.

He grimaced at the map he drew, but it couldn't be helped. Proper maps were nowhere to be found, a fact he couldn't easily accept. In his prior noble life, maps of every conceivable kind decorated the houses of the wealthy. More modest folk? None. They had no need for the most part.

He sat at a smooth gray stone table by the cracked window in the spacious and musty tavern while he planned out his contingencies if his wife and children weren't at Hokatan when he eventually got there. Logically, their next refuge would be to the southeast Hokatan against the Odekan Highlands where there was a good smattering of Vedous, southern Zarmandian stock like himself, and Caylanchs, the blue-skinned folk from the easternmost reaches of the Methrangian Empire who had settled further and further west as time went on. That mix of peoples made it an attractive location for refugees or anyone else looking to escape scrutiny. In theory.

This'd all be so much easier if I could just announce my presence and say who I'm looking for, but... What a mess I helped cause, he sank his head while reaching for the mug of bitter ale he ordered. As he swigged that nasty brew down, he stared at his left hand and his missing fingers, hearing Foynda's voice say "I did not intend for your survival."

"Are you okay sitting by the window like that?" the barkeep, a portly man with a thick red beard, shouted from across the room. "Gets a bit drafty over there."

"Quite alright, thank you! I run warm, so this is fine," Feradnor cheerfully responded and then immediately turned back to thinking through his present circumstances. "Another one might be nice, though."

"You got it," the barkeep acknowledged. "Just a moment."

The man wobbled over with a full clay mug of the dark bitter ale, some of it spilling over the sides before placing it on the table. Feradnor nodded his head and smiled in appreciation.

"You're a map drawer or whatever those folks're called?" the barkeeper pointed at the map and belched out a rancid cloud of foul breath.

"Not exactly," Feradnor politely laughed. "This isn't nearly good enough to hang on a lord's wall. It's just something to help me think."

"Ah," the barkeeper sighed. "If ya don't mind my askin', what happened to your hand there?"

Feradnor held up his left hand without hesitating, trying to demonstrate that he had no shame about it. Pretending that he didn't find his lack of fingers shocking was a hard act, however. It was a sight he hadn't gotten used to.

"I was working on something at home and, well, I guess you could say I made a mistake," he said humbly, almost proud that it was vaguely true. When he blinked, he saw the charred sliver of that poor woman's face in the river. "A very bad one."

"Yah..." the barkeeper mumbled and gawked at it. "Never seen somethin' like that before. Must've been a hot blade. Very hot."

"Something like that."

"Well, I don't blame ya for not wantin' to talk 'bout it. You said you're going up north, right?" the man changed his tone along with the subject.

"That's my plan," Feradnor answered.

"Into the mountains with winter settin' in," the barkeeper intoned. "That'll be fun for you."

Shrugging, Feradnor pointed to the map and smiled.

"I know what it's like up there and expect it to be more than a little nasty."

The barkeeper scratched at his beard and pointed vaguely in the direction of the north-facing windows on the tavern's opposite side.

"You have your papers?"

"Pardon?" Feradnor asked and squinted his eyes.

"Papers. 'Bout ten, twelve miles up the road, you need papers stamped and some such to travel and explain your business. Spies are all over the place 'round here, apparently," he rubbed his ample belly while he explained the situation. "Really tightened things up. How'd you not know 'bout that?"

"I'm traveling from near Zarmand and just hadn't heard much about it, I suppose," Feradnor quickly answered. Sweat gushed on his back and armpits, despite the chilly draft coming in from the cracked window.

"Zarmand? I almost wanted to see how that happened. Woulda been something to see," he said, his voice trailing off.

Had Feradnor been able to share with the barkeeper the images he saw each time he closed his eyes, he could have satisfied that curiosity.

"What's involved in getting the papers for that?" he tried to shift the conversation back to firmer ground.

"Oh, let's see. A local constable is the best way," the barkeeper extended one finger. He scrunched his face before extending a second. "Then there's the army, but... don't bother. They don't think anyone's got a real reason to travel far. Oh, and then there's fake papers and bribes and such."

"Naturally," Feradnor laughed about the third category, recalling that end of things all too well from his earlier life as a rising lord in the imperial court. "A constable... I'd have to go back to Rafnious."

"Probably."

"Of course I could always try to go around the checkpoints," he mumbled in a jesting lilt.

"Oh no no no. Dangerous and if patrols catch you doing that, I can't say what'd happen to ya. Not to mention the beasts out there."

"So that leaves... Ah. I don't suppose you'd be able to help with..." Feradnor began sheepishly, but the barkeeper cut him off.

"I like to offer something special if one of my customers orders a third round of ale. How much do you think this special will be worth to ya?" the barkeeper grinned and winked.

Chuckling, Feradnor dipped his right hand into the bag of coins he carried inside his pants. Ten coins were left in total, each a ten piece.

"I can go up to forty pieces," Feradnor said.

The barkeeper winced and wiggled his fingers while he considered the offer. He turned around and started whistling. He poured a third mug of ale at the counter and then grabbed a piece of pale-yellow parchment out from under the counter's top shelf. Feradnor plopped the four ten pieces on the table, scowling a little at the prints of Duronaht on the coins. In exchange, the barkeeper set the parchment off to Feradnor's right.

"Just fill in the destination there and you're good," the barkeeper said. "This is an actual pass, by the way. Not a fake one. Don't ask how I get these. I'll never tell."

Feradnor quickly assessed whether that assertion was correct by looking at the signature of a constable to see if it had all of the appropriate flourishes to represent the city and term of service for each constable. Most forgeries missed that in prior years. Those who tried to copy it without knowing what they were doing made laughable mistakes. This one, however, was legitimate through and through.

"So, I have to be... Jeryn Torlious? More a far south name, but..." Feradnor mumbled and the barkeeper cut him off.

"I don't know your real name or what it is or isn't and you're better for it," he interjected, laughing. "And now that you 'ave that, probably best you be on your way. Good luck."

After finishing his ale, Feradnor complied and set off for Hokatan. For his journey, he hired a closed wagon after one stopped at the Lonely Grove Inn for brief break. The driver, an elderly yet spry woman, squinted at him when he gave Hokatan as his destination.

"Yer tellin' me you want to deal with the Vedous?" she asked in a gruff drawl.

"I think of myself as being good with people," he smiled, laughing.

"Not that good since I don't like ya one bit, but yer money's good 'nuff," she acerbically snapped at him. "I'll take ya within a decent walk of the city, but that's it."

Brushing off the insult, he nodded before boarding the wagon and proceeded to not share another word with the old driver the whole bumpy journey northward on the narrow stone road. As it happened, the army's inspection of his papers was perfunctory at most. A fat bald man with one hand crippled from losing his fingers was of little concern, apparently. He laughed thinking of how the barkeeper managed to get so much out of him for it for that little trouble.

We all play our little games, he mused.

After three days of bouncing along in the wagon and getting blasted by the ever-intensifying drafts, the old woman driver announced that he had arrived. Judging by the gray rocky foothills and huge jagged mountains in the distance, he was indeed just south of Hokatan and the menacing north central highlands.

"Alright, be off with ya!" she barked to him before he started walking up the narrow and winding road toward the city. However, she also tossed him a heavy old brown blanket that, despite the holes eaten in it, was still of some use. "You'll need that with this damned wind kickin' up."

He wrapped himself in the covering, instantly relieved at how it cut down on the chill blowing down the road.

"Blessings upon you," he said cheerily at her, but she merely grimaced and shook her head before turning her cart around back toward Rafnious.

Feradnor judged from the position of the cloud-covered sun that it must have been only a touch past noon as he trudged up the road. Even with the sun out, frost covered the road's stones, many of which had sprung loose from their original moorings and now littered the path or lay alongside it. Matching the road's derelict and abandoned state, all he heard as he walked up the gentle incline to Hokatan was the howling wind and the occasional screeching caws of Icrandis, massive scavenging mountain birds native to the area.

I hope that's not a sign, he chuckled to himself. Forynda, I trust that you didn't spare me to have me just collapse and die along this road.

Dry and brittle snow began to fall as he came within sight of Hokatan's outer walls. In true Vedous fashion, they were jagged and menacing stone constructs, almost resembling a caricature of a beast's teeth. Almost all buildings built by the Vedous had some manner of jagged edges, such as sharp horns rising from each corner of their houses or spikes atop their government buildings.

"It's been a long time," Feradnor said aloud, bracing himself for what would come next. "A long time."

He thought his words through carefully while approaching the main gate, which was guarded by a squad of classically tall and heavily armored Vedous soldiers. He had no desire to be deliberately deceptive, but he also had no idea to what extent the Vedous truly maintained loyalty to Duronaht. They had gladly committed troops to fight Bohruum earlier and some Vedous units traveled with the main army, but that meant little by itself.

Feradnor slowed his pace and raised his hands. The guards, while fixated on his approach, didn't respond.

"Hello there," Feradnor called out weakly, his throat parched from inhaling the brisk winds. "I'm a traveler from the south and I seek refuge."

The tallest of the Vedous, clad in black metal armor with a single silver stripe across each shoulder and grasping an ornamental serated spear, stepped forward and stared at Feradnor. His eyes, scarcely visible under the shadow of his helmet, were dark and expressionless.

"What business brings you to Hokatan?" the guard asked, his thick Vedous accent dripping off every syllable. "If you are a refugee, you have a foe from which you are seeking refuge, yahno?"

Feradnor had to stop himself from smirking at the delightful colloquialism that was roundly mocked in the south. Whenever a southerner immitated a Vedous, they punctuated each sentence with the customary "yahno." While not as common as southerners joked about it, it was distinctive.

"Not exactly. My family came up this way and I wanted to make sure they're safe," the former lord answered. "I've not been here in some years, so I apologize in advance if I give any offense."

The guard continued his silent examination of Feradnor for some seconds.

"Your name?" he asked.

"Jeryn Torlious," Feradnor instantly answered.

"That's a southern name, yahno?" the guard replied.

"I said I was from the south," Feradnor laughed and shrugged.

"Not a common name around here. I know no Torlious families in Hokatan."

"I should've clarified that I'm a distant relative, different surname," he said quickly. "The woman I'm looking for, her first name is Eltysa."

The guard straightened his stance further at the mention of that name. He glanced back to the guards behind him and snapped his fingers at two of them. In their heavy armor, they clanked forward and took up along both sides of the guard.

"Take him to the warden. He should speak to him," the guard said. "That'll be all."

Feradnor's heart began pounding against his chest and his stomach crept up just under his throat, but he tried to maintain a calm appearance while being escorted by the two soldiers. While shorter than their leader, they still dwarfed him by at least a foot. In a way, he was glad that they were so much his superiors physically. That fact made clear that trying to fight his way out would end in utter futility.

They took him through the intricately carved metal gate into the village. It was the archetype of a Vedous settlement with its cramped carved stone buildings laid out in a series of squares around circle comprising the town center and market as well as the key governmental buildings such as the constabulary and treasury. The citizens of Hokatan wore the traditional dark leather and furs of the Vedous as they milled about the village. Men mostly kept tightly cropped and patterned beards as they had done for centuries while the women wrapped their hair in green and gold ornamental fabric.

Many things change. These people don't, Feradnor thought as he walked along. That might be a good thing for once.

The soldiers brought him to the black stone constabulary in the village's center and handed him off the guards there, who immediately took him inside. The entrance hall immediately split into three halls, two branching off at matching diagonals to the sides of the building and one straight down the middle into its center. It was dimly lit and the black stone walls added to the gloomy ambience.

However, once he entered the central chamber, it was almost blindingly bright. Ample candle light with smooth white stone made for a glaring sight. In the back of the room sat a balding Vedous man with a bony face who wore dark gray leather studded with two circular patterns of gems on his shoulders. He looked up from the table and smirked, his graying beard rising on his wrinkled face.

"Guards, you can leave us," he said in his more muted accent. He moved papers aside at his black lacquered desk and folded his hands. "This one is no threat."

Before Feradnor could even turn around to see the guards' departure, the door behind him slammed shut.

"Come here," the man said. "Sit."

Feradnor nervously shuffled to the flimsy wooden chairs in front of the warden. He glanced at the neatly ordered desk before him and then back to the warden, who stared at him and nodded.

"The very picture of a southerner. Small legs, big belly," the warden said, pressing his tongue against his bottom lip.

"That's not actually that common down south. That's more my own affliction," Feradnor laughed.

"And what affliction brings you north in the winter?" the warden leaned forward. "Fond of deep snows in the realm of the mountain men, yahno?"

"Ha," Feradnor chuckled. "No, looking for family."

The warden rose, towering over Feradnor as the former lord remained seated. The warden must have been another head taller than the guards' leader outside the village, massive even for a Vedous. He stared down at Feradnor with his deep black eyes.

"Do you know why I insist on bringing all refugees to me immediately?" the warden asked as he began to walk around the desk and behind Feradnor. "Refugees can bring problems with them. Crimes. Vendettas. Any number of threats to the peace of Hokatan. A ghost like yourself, that's something even more peculiar."

Feradnor jolted.

"Ghost?" he nervously chuckled. "I don't..."

"I know you're alive and flesh and blood. I'm not crazy. It's merely a shocking fact that you are," the warden said with a mischievous lilt and leaned his head over Feradnor's left shoulder. "You're supposed to be dead. Very dead. Lord Feradnor."

His heart stopped. His skin exploded in sweat. He almost screamed from the shock. He'd anticipated almost anything else the warden might say, but not that.

"You're mistaken. I might look like..." he began, but his words faded and then the warden continued speaking over him.

"You don't remember me, do you?" the warden asked as he returned to the simple dark wooden chair behind his desk. "Eleven years ago, a certain Lord Mecan Feradnor granted me a promotion to be Warden of Hokatan. It's not the highest position here, so it might not have meant much to you, but it did to me. You and your wife were very kind to me at the investiture."

Feradnor simply stared back blankly. It was true that he didn't remember it at all. So many ceremonies of local officials required a lord to officiate and Feradnor had always been eager to travel around for them. They all blended together and both names and faces faded into oblivion thanks to the drunken revelries after such ceremonies.

"You've got me at the disadvantage. I don't remember," Feradnor confessed. "I'm sorry."

"Quite alright," the warden said. "My name is Gocef Seraka, but I doubt that'll help you remember. I'll do you one immediate courtesy and tell you that your wife and children are still alive. That's your biggest question, yahno?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Feradnor almost loosed a torrent of joyful tears.

"I'll take that as a yes," Warden Seraka smiled and strummed his fingers. "They all thought you were dead when they came up here. Everyone just assumed that no one could've survived that, which truly leaves me with a problem. I'm sworn to the overlord of these lands, Emperor Duronaht, whom you betrayed for the angel Nethron. Of course, you also betrayed Emperor Covifaht while he was still alive as part of Duronaht's rebellion. You're not a reliable man."

"That's... that's fair, but..." Feradnor started to protest, but couldn't summon a coherent thought.

"And I could probably get a nice further promotion, or some other reward, by turning in to Emperor Duronaht the man who stripped his own crown city of Zarmand from him," Seraka smirked and then bit his lip. "I do want to know something, though. How did you survive Forynda's fury? Were you just lucky or did the High Angel feel sorry for you?"

The panic he felt seconds earlier subsided as he recalled the image of Forynda floating above him amidst the barren wastes that seconds earlier had been one of the world's greatest cities. "Prove yourself and we shall speak again," Forynda's voice echoed in his mind. He clenched his right hand while his left ached for want of its erstwhile fingers.

There's nothing else for it at this point, he resolved.

"I fell into the river and had bodies on top of me. Everyone above me died," he mumbled and shook as he recounted it. He then stood from his chair and pointed skyward with his right hand. "Then I rose from the river and there she was. The High Angel. She told me that she hadn't intended to spare me, but that she would. And that I would prove myself in her eyes. And we would speak again. I came north for my family and for her. For Forynda."

Warden Seraka looked up silently at Feradnor as he finished. He breathed heavily and then rose, leaning forward so that he could look his comparatively diminutive counterpart in the eyes.

His faint scowl turned into a smile.

"Lord Feradnor," he began. Feradnor expected to hear an order of summary execution and braced for it. "In the High Angel's name, I'm pleased to say that we will be in this struggle together."

Feradnor gasped and nearly crumpled back into his chair.

"I sent your family to the Odekan Highlands instead of keeping them here," Seraka continued. "I reasoned that your wife's ancestral home might be a place people would look. Go to her and your children and then we will carry on our mission from there."

Wondering for some seconds if he was dreaming, Feradnor at last convinced himself that this all had really happened. Such a stunning stroke of luck had to be fate and fate orchestrated by Forynda herself, whether even the High Angel knew it or not.

"Thank you, my friend," Feradnor wheezed as he stood, his legs wobbling from the shocks of the day. "Forynda be praised."