In the growing darkness of the aborted dawn, as the immense cloud of lightning-shot smoke loomed over them like the hand of Korön, the group made their way down to the chantry on the shore of the lake. By the time they arrived dozens of people were working frantically to rescue those trapped in the ruins of the collapsed wing, and a steady rain of ash had begun to fall.

While Mariala and Devrik, who cradled his restless son in the crook of his arm, sought out the Grand Master, the others, exhausted and battered as they were, lent what aid they could to the rescue effort. Vulk’s talents as a healer were sadly in some demand, and even Erol’s rough arena-trained first aid skills found use.

By the time the last survivor had been pulled from the rubble, and everyone was able to take shelter inside the remaining buildings, over an inch of fine, hot ash covered every surface, a mocking parody of a winter snowfall in dirty gray. Mariala had given a heavily edited version of their pursuit of the kidnappers to her former teacher, and stressed the urgency of finding a wet nurse for the newborn, and by now very hungry, newborn.

“It seems as if the Lady of Fortune smiles on you,” the old man said, “in this, if nothing else on this tragic day. One of the servant women, Mistress Hyslopa, gave birth a little over a ten-day ago. She is our cook, and her husband our master of hounds, so they live on the grounds, rather than in the village. I’m sure she would be more than happy to succor your unhappy infant.”

As indeed she was. Karla Hyslopaz was a robust woman of middle years, mother of four other children besides her newest addition, and as unflappable as Mariala remembered her, even in the face of volcanic eruptions, earthquakes and temporarily motherless babes. She also seemed to have fond memories of Mariala, and was pleased to help her and her friend.

Devrik, on the other hand, was less sure about handing his newborn son off to the care of a stranger, however well-regarded by his friend. The kid had been through more, in the first day of his life, than most people experienced in a lifetime… but he had to admit, he could not provide what the infant needed, and the crying was constant now… reluctantly, he handed the babe over to the smiling woman (she did look very maternal, he thought). The kid needed no prompting when an ample breast was presented to his seeking mouth, and he latched on like he was never going to let go!

“Oooh!” said Mistress Hyslopaz in amused surprise. “The poor chick must be starving!

“What’s the wee one’s name,” she asked Devrik, as the baby settled in to steady nursing, while she rocked the cradle that held her own newborn daughter.

“Um, well…” Devrik seemed unusually tongue-tied, Mariala thought in amusement. “We hadn’t yet decided on a name, and then with the kidnapping… I don’t want to name him without my wife. She’s already going to be upset with… all this…” No, Raven wasn’t going to be happy with this latest development at all, he thought with a mental wince.

“Hmmm. Well, we need to call him something while he’s here,” the wet nursed frowned. Then her face lit up with a smile. “I think “Lucky” will do, from all that you’ve told me.”

And so Devrik and Raven’s son gained his first nickname, before ever he gained his true name.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day Devrik was adamant that he must try to get back to Dor Dür and his wife. He was frantic both to reunite mother and son, and to learn how Raven fared… Vulk was certain she would survive, but not knowing for sure… Unfortunately, Mariala had not had a chance to renew Draik and Alakor’s supply of her magic parchment before the pursuit of the kidnappers had begun, so there was no way to send or receive news from Dür.

Seeking the fastest way back, he ignored the warnings of several of the chantry’s  Xavar’na masters. They explained that all Nitaran Vortices in the region would be unusable for days, perhaps even weeks, due to the geo-magnetic interference along the ley lines caused by what was turning out to be one of the largest eruptions since the Age of Chaos. But he was determined, and so Mariala and Vulk followed him up to the high moor, where the group had first arrived, to oversee the attempt. Mariala carried a tightly swaddled Lucky in her arms, keeping his face covered against another fall of ash that had begun that morning.

With Mt. Katai, still billowing a massive pillar of smoke and ash into the sky, as a backdrop, Devrik focused his will on the twisting energies of the invisible portal. He was aware of a grating sense of wrongness, but was determined to force an opening. A throbbing pain behind the eyes quickly began, and grew worse as he repeatedly tried to get a mental grip on the shifting strands of energy that would bring him to his wife. By the gods, he would do it! Yes, there – if he could force that to move just so, and this one to –

Devrik didn’t even make a sound as his head snapped back and he dropped to the ground like a poll-axed steer.

Vulk rushed to his friend’s side, and found he was breathing, thank Kasira. But no amount of effort could bring him back to consciousness. He was just beginning to worry about how the Void they were going to get him back to the chantry when Jardin Kemalo, one of the relatively younger Xavar’na Masters (and a former teacher of Mariala), arrived. Two sturdy servants accompanied him, one carrying a stretcher over his shoulder.

“Ah, yes,” Master Kemalo said, nodding a greeting to his former student as he gazed down at Devrik’s limp form. “I rather expected to find your friend in this state. These Yalvan types are always so hot-headed… comes with the territory I expect.” He knelt down and peeled back the fallen man’s eyelids.

“Yes, a very nice case of aural shock, very nice indeed…. oh, you need not be too worried,” he said in response to the others’ sounds of distress. “He’ll be out for a day, maybe even two, and he’ll have a scorcher of a headache for the best part of a tenday, I should think. But he’ll survive, and be none the worse for having learned a lesson, eh?”

With that he directed the servants to load the comatose fire mage onto the stretcher, and they all trudged back down through the gray, heavy air to the chantry. Devrik was placed in the infirmary, where several teachers brought students in over the next two days, to be shown the very serious consequences of aural shock. Lucky, who had slept through it all, was again placed in the care of Mistress Hyslopa.

♦ ♦ ♦

While Mariala was unable to communicate with her friends at Dür, she did have parchments still attuned to others in Dürkon, Devok and aboard the Fortune’s Favor.

Lekorm Darkeye reported that a minor earthquake had done minimal damage in the City, but that ash was already beginning to fall as the winds turned to the northeast; he promised to send a courier to Dor Dür, with news of the baby’s rescue, and would pass on any reports on matters there as he received them.

To Magister Vetaris she sent as concise a report of recent events as the limitations of the parchment allowed. Not for the first time, she swore she’d find a way to increase the carrying capacity. Vetaris didn’t answer for several days, however, and she was just getting ready to send another message, when Master Kemalo appeared at her door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” he began without preamble, “but there’s a bit of a crisis in the town, and we have no one to spare right now, with all the damage here, and out attempts to gather news… the Grand Master asks if you and your friends would go and see to it? Young Devrik should probably not yet be up and about, but the others…”

“Certainly,” Mariala replied, rising. “What is the nature of this crisis?”

“A runner from the town provost,” he sighed, “claims that they are being invaded by killer otters from the lake…”

In the event, it turned out that a tribe of K’hela Pah, a sentient species of quasi-humanoid (“they do look like a cross between otters and seals,” Erol later said, “except for those human eyes.”) had emerged from the lake that morning near the town’s fishing fleet, a mile west of the chantry. There were perhaps a hundred of the meter-tall beings, including females and young, with heavily armed males brandishing weapons. An unfortunate initial encounter with some town “toughs” led to injuries on both sides, and communication barriers made matters worse. By the time Mariala arrived, with Vulk, Erol, Toran and Korwin in tow, it looked to be quickly sliding towards mutual massacre.

Fortunately, no one had actually been killed yet, and after several hours of arcane communication techniques, tense negotiation and some calming psychic broadcasts, bolstered by her authority as a mage of the respected local chantry, Mariala was able to bring the affair to a peaceful conclusion. It seemed the amphibious K’hela Pah had been driven from their homes by the disruptions of the recent eruption, when underwater fissures had started venting lethal gases and even boiling the water in some areas. Some blamed the humans, of whom they knew little, others said the humans could make it stop. They had actually been seeking the chantry, when they came ashore.

Once both sides reluctantly agreed that the other meant no harm, the humans promised to help the lake people relocated, and the K’hela Pah offered to help direct the town’s fishing boats to better shoals.

“This may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Vulk whispered to Mariala as they returned to the chantry. “Good job! You ever think  of becoming a herald?”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day, Magister Vetaris finally answered, and it was short and to the point:

Chaos! Farlox III murdered, Korön cult coup Darikaz. Attempt on Dorikon IV failed. War likely. Meet me in Shalara, 24 Margas.

When this shocking, if all too brief, news was relayed to the others, it was quickly agreed that they should have as many options open as possible; Mariala sent a message to Captain Levtor, directing him to wrap up his current trading activities and bring Fortune’s Favor to Shalara as soon as possible.

Vulk, of course, was deeply worried about his family and friends in Virzon and the boarder lands near Darikaz… if war came, they would be on the front lines. There was nothing he alone could do, but perhaps the Star Council might have a strategy… he would at least meet with Vetaris before making any decisions.

Devrik, mostly recovered from his aural shock, aside from a low, persistent headache, remained anxious to return to Raven with their son, but was persuaded there was no quicker way to do so than via Shalara. From there he might charter a river boat that could take him much of the way up the Silver Eye, faster than he could ride. Mistress Hyslopa had been showing him how to feed his son when no wet nurse was available, so he felt there was no need to linger on Râgnol any longer.

The next day was Korwin’s 25th birthday, but much like Devrik’s 27th birthday of the previous month, lost to the time they were trapped in stasis, it was largely forgotten amid the preparations for departure. His friends did manage to lift a glass to his health over dinner that night, but they were all too tired, worried and fretful to do more.

The next day, as they were preparing to mount the horses they had purchased, at greatly inflated prices, news arrived that the northern tribesmen of the Savage Mountains were rumored to be in great turmoil, and moving south; that King Garinalt had called up the levies of the northern marches in preparation for possible incursions; and most surprising of all, the King had finally named an heir! Ser Maldan Harabor, Sheriff of Daretshire, oldest bastard son of the elderly king, had at last been legally recognized and named as the Heir. The question on everyone’s mind was, how would all the other potential heirs take it? Would it lead to stability, or more chaos, infighting and backstabbing?

♦ ♦ ♦

“Stability, on the whole, I think,” Magister Vetaris said when the question was posed to him at their meeting, seven days later. The trip from Ragnol had been surprisingly uneventful, the people remarkably calm; there was concern, certainly, about the volcanic pall that still hung over much of the northern part of the land and the effect it would have on the year’s crops, just now being planted, but no panic. People seemed secure in their belief that their good king’s wisdom would see them through, especially now that he had at last named an heir.

“The threat from the northern barbarians is greater than most people know,” the old mage went on. “But that news has brought most of the other potential claimants to the throne into line – the last thing anyone wants is a fractured realm when the barbarians are at the gate. and there is no doubt that Ser Maladan – excuse me, Prince Maladan – is a capable and strong leader of men, and a canny fighter.

“While his father keeps the home front calm, I suspect the Prince will lead the armies in the north… an eventuality that our friends in the Vortex didn’t foresee, I believe.”

“You think the Vortex is behind these barbarian movements, then?” Vulk asked, setting down his wine glass. They had just finished a sumptuous meal in Vetaris’ suite at the finest inn in Shalara, and were finally getting down to business.

“Without a doubt,” Vetaris nodded. “Especially given the story you’ve just told me of the ritual you interrupted. And it’s more than just barbarian tribes on the move – Gülvini of every stripe are gathering throughout the northern mountains, and there are rumors of… other things, as well.

“The council believes that the eruption was to have been a signal to the Vortex forces scattered across the North. In fact, I suspect there was to have been four simultaneous eruptions along the Blackmist and Sarajis Mountains, given the number of magma elementals you describe. This would have spread panic much more widely, and have assured massive crop failures in at least six countries, leading to starvation and unrest.

“I believe the death of old King Garinalt was to be the event that triggered the eruptions, once the Vortex had summoned and positioned their elementals within the chosen volcanoes. Whether they intended to wait on his natural death, or hasten it along at the right moment, I don’t know. But combined with the assassinations of the kings of Arushal and Darikaz immediately after, the entire region would be in chaos.

“But thanks to you, or perhaps we should give credit to poor, foolish Kirdik Hanol, the signal was only partial and too early. King Farlox was assassinated, true, and the Order of the Red Hand has seized control of the capitol and much of the heartland of Darikaz, but attempts to assassinate the Earls of Gormilioth and Therund failed. So the country is effectively in  a state of civil war, where they had no doubt expected to be on the march into Arushal by now.

“More importantly, from our point of view, the Zelistian assassins sent to kill King Doirikon were less prepared than they might have been, and they failed. They died on the rack, in terrible pain, but nothing of import was got from them… hardly a surprise, of course. The Shadows of Zelist live up to their fearsome reputation. Well, almost,” he added, smiling.

“With Arushal and Nolkior stable, if shaken, it would sem that the Vortex’s plans are in disarray. Yet it is still possible for them to achieve – something. If we only knew what their ultimate objectives were, we’d be in a better position to gauge what may come next… if it’s mere territorial aggrandizement, then they may well push ahead, willing to seize what they can, if not all of what they want. But if there is some deeper game here…”

“How can we help?” Vulk asked. “Perhaps in the west, we could–”

“No, Ser Vulk,” the old man shook his head tiredly. “I understand your desire to be where you might help your family. But they are in no danger just yet, or at least not more than they have been the last 10 years.

“It is here, or rather in the north of Nolkior, that the Council feels you can be of the most use. For now, I would ask that you return to Dor Dür, or even Dürkon, and keep your ears to the ground. I fear war is coming from the north soon; sooner than it will from Darikaz in the west, in any case. You have connections with the Earls of Kinen and Urkonis, as well as the Constable of Dür and the Prince of Dürkon. My gut tells me you have some role to play here. I promise you, the Council will not abandon you, nor forget your own concerns.”

There were several more hours of talk, going over every detail of what was known of the chaotic events across the North, and in the end even Vulk agreed, reluctantly, to remain on alert in northern Nolkior. With portal travel still almost impossible, the gray-haired mage gratefully accepted the Hand’s offer of the use of the Fortune’s Favor to carry him back to Arushal and his business there… with the threat of war looming, he had been asked by the king to take a formal place as one of his advisors. As this suited the Star Council perfectly, he had of course accepted.

“Piracy seems to be on the rise these days, on top of everything else,” he said as he bid them farewell. “But I’m certain that, between the skill of Captain Levtor and his crew, and my own modest abilities, we shall fare just fine.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day the group again took to the road, or rather the river, hiring a boat to carry them and the horses to the navigable head of the Silvari River, and the city of Tendus. From there it was a three day ride to Dor Dür, and at midday on 29 Margas the Hand of Fortune returned to where they had started, 18 days earlier. The reunion of mother and child (and wife and husband) was everything the friends had hoped for. Raven was long recovered from the hemorrhage caused by the false midwife (the body of the true midwife had been found several days after the group had left in hot pursuit), and Devrik’s fears about her reaction to another woman feeding her child proved unfounded.

“You civilized people worry about such stupid things,” was all she said when he mentioned it, as she rocked her son to sleep.

It wasn’t until 16 days later, during the mid-month celebration of Saridás, that she and Devrik fianlly revealed the name of their son. Vulk publicly announced the name the next day when he baptized the babe during the celebration of the Kasiran Festival of Luck. His true name, however, as was the custom of her people, would only be discovered by the boy himself, when he became a man at age 16.

After the three day celebration of the spring equinox was over, Erol decided to set out for the Republic.

“It’s past time I let my family know that I’m alive,” he explained, “and to set things right with my father. Vetaris knew little of what is going on in the Republic, yet rumor has the Senate more deadlocked than ever, and there have been riots… I’ll learn what I can of the Vortex’s activities there.”

Toran decided to ride out with him as far as Dürkon, having been summoned by Lekorm Darkeye to give Prince Rhoghûn a full accounting of recent events. He promised to return as soon as possible.

In the days that followed, a strange kind of quiet settled over the group, and apparently over the world. No word of attacks from the northern barbarians came, no ravening packs of Gülvini stalked the countryside, and life seemed to go on as ever. Study, practice, conversation, and playing with the baby filled their days. Vulk travelled north to Vinkara for a tenday, to study with certain cantors there, and reported the gradual gathering of a great army there, but no other sign of trouble.

Until 28 Sarnia, Mariala’s 25th birthday, when news came to them that a great battle had been fought at Noneth Bridge, led by Prince Maldan and the Earl of Kinen. A great horde of Ethmoniri tribesmen had been routed and turned back at the frontier, with minimal loss of life on the Nolkiori side. The birthday party, already in full swing, turned into a spontaneous victory celebration.

But afterward, the Hand learned that not all was as joyful as it seemed. Ser Alalkor called them to his study later that evening, to reveal that while the barbarians had indeed been routed, the army had been suffering a strange attrition. Scores of men, most from the rear echelons, had been disappearing for days before the battle. At first it was assumed to be simple desertion, but as the numbers grew to include men of unquestionable loyalty, and even a few officers, some darker force was believed to be at work. And it seemed to center on the Kotaran Marsh…

After several scouts disappeared, the Earl of Kinen suggested that they needed specialists, and had assured the Prince that he knew just the group for the job…