CHAPTER 3

	In the three days that followed the arrival of Hawk the 
wanderer into Aubon, appearances changed among the simple 
villagers.  Where unconcerned traders and hunters would sell their 
goods and talk freely at the local tavern, now the locals cast a wary 
eye toward all visitors and almost all the men carried a weapon of 
some sort.  Flagrant gossip caused this, spreading after Bardoff had 
confided in the town council. Naturally, the council members felt a 
need to tell their spouses and their spouses their friends until the 
stories ran unchecked.

	Stories and rumors were not anything new in Aubon, but this 
time physical evidence stemmed the tongue of uncertainty.  To 
most, a wounded man harboring at the Fur Trade gave ample 
credibility to exaggerated anecdotes.  Many had tried to visit and 
verify their curiosity of him, but were quickly turned away by 
Maggie or the Healer. The man had still not returned to 
consciousness and to the townspeople he became an enigma.  
Although most residents returned to their labors, some of the more 
raucous would demand to see the wounded man and upon refusal 
they would quickly accuse the family as liars or harbors of a 
criminal.  Some would even threaten to inform the authorities in 
Gahlen.

	The townspeople considered Derek and Pahl veritable heroes 
and asked them more than once to share a drink at the tavern and 
relate the ever elusive story.  Most often they would respectfully 
decline.  Pahl, seeing a window of opportunity, would try to weave 
some tale into the selling of his family's furs.  This became 
lucrative in the short run, but after a few days and more than one 
skeptical eye his sales tapered off.

	On the fourth day after Hawk's arrival, the excitement died 
down under the front of a small storm.  Starting as a light shower 
and building into a heavy downpour, the storm began to turn the 
streets to mud.  Rain coupled with muddy streets kept most 
travelers at the inn and a good number of locals behind closed 
doors.  That evening Hawk awoke.  He had stayed in the guest 
room since Derek and Pahl had brought him there. Because of his 
condition the family had not moved him to one of the smaller 
rooms.  The family made frequent visits, but apart from his restless 
stirrings he had not come out of his slumber.  Tania happened to be 
in the room this time, staring at the man as he opened his eyes.

	"Where am I?" Came Hawk's slow, dry and barely audible 
voice.

	Tania, standing near the door, ran to where he lay.  "Oh, 
you're awake," she said smiling.

	Hawk's eyes, somewhat glazed and blurring his vision, looked 
in her general direction. "Yes," he said swallowing against the 
dryness in his throat.  "I am awake.  Where am I...and...and who 
are you?"

	"I'm Tania," she said.  "And you're in my house."
	Her voice was soft and disarming, bringing a smile to Hawk's 
face.  He blinked several times clearing his clouded vision and 
spoke slowly, "Well Tania, if this is your house, could you bring 
me a cup of water?"

	"Uh huh," she replied and ran out of the room.
	"Wait!"  He tried to yell, but his voice was too weak and she 
had already run down the hall.  He wondered of the two boys who 
had brought him to this house.  No matter, he thought.  He would 
find out soon enough.  Taking a deep breath Hawk let his eyes 
slide closed.

	"Mama," said Tania as she ran into the den where her family 
and Bojax Freed sat talking in front of the fire.

	"Just a moment, dear."  Tania's mother was busy mending one 
of Pahl's tunics.  She was concentrating heavily on a corner stitch.  
"Let me just finish here.  There.  Now what is it, sweetie?"

	"The sleeping man wants some water."
	Pahl and Derek look at each other, jumped up, and headed for 
the guest room.  The others followed, with Maggie putting down 
the tunic and her sewing materials and Bojax Freed following her.  
Bojax Freed stopped short of leaving the living room, went back to 
where he had previously sat and retrieved his sword.

	Tania stood alone in the room.  "What about the water?"  She 
asked with arms stretched out and a frowning face.  She hesitated, 
then followed her family.

	"Your awake!"  Said Pahl and Derek simultaneously as they 
burst into the room.

	"It would seem so," replied Hawk, opening his eyes.
	"But your alive!  I mean, you’re not...well, we thought that..."
	"What he means," Derek cut in, "is we're happy to see you 
well again."

	"I don't know if you call lying here in pain well, but thank 
you," said Hawk.  He stirred, adjusting a feather pillow more 
comfortably behind his head.

	"Sir," said Maggie. "I can get the healer to come by.  Maybe 
he can do something about the pain."

	"That's all right," replied Hawk.  "It's not that bad.  Some 
water would be fine though.  And please, call me Hawk.  I am not a 
nobleman."

	Maggie smiled and left to retrieve some water.  Pahl's father 
moved closer to the bed.  He knelt down to converse at eye level.

	"That was my wife, Maggie,"  he said.  "My name is Roshay 
Kempter.  My two sons met you in the woods five days ago.  You 
were hurt pretty badly and have been recuperating here."

	"My thanks to you and your family," said Hawk.  "I hope that 
I have not caused any hardship."  He noticed the sheathed sword in 
Bojax Freed's hand.  "I am not dangerous, my friend.  I could 
scarcely sit up, much less attack you."

	Bojax Freed set the sword aside and responded with a slight 
smile, "just a precaution.  I am called Bojax Freed."

	Hawk smiled and nodded.  Maggie returned and offered him 
the water.  For the next hour Roshay Kempter and Bojax Freed 
explained to Hawk the last few days and what Pahl and Derek 
knew had occurred.  Hawk in turn told the family what he felt they 
needed to know concerning the attack.  He explained that they 
were simply Southern robbers he had the misfortune to meet.  He 
did not want to frighten them by saying whom he really believed 
they were and what they really wanted...him.

	These thoughts taunted Hawk as he lay awake long after the 
Kempter's and Bojax Freed and left him to rest.  He knew the 
attackers were from the South and that they were after him.  He 
knew this, but yet, did not know why.  What could anyone want 
with him, a waylander?  A homeless traveler whose past was not 
much more than failure at the all but forgotten school of the Retter.  
Could it possibly have something to do with his training at the 
school, or some vengeance a particular instructor wanted to pay 
tribute to him.  No, it was too long ago, thought Hawk.  He 
doubted if anyone there actually remembered him.  He had heard 
rumors of the academy's closure, but never took the time to 
investigate for himself.  Still, the frequency and ferocity of the 
attacks demanded every possible consideration.

	He let his thoughts drift back to when the attacks first started. 
The first assault was hardly a threat since it seemed to Hawk as 
merely poorly trained thieves needing extra income.  He had been 
on a messenger mission to the Duke of Gahlen and thought for a 
moment whether the attack pertained to his message.  He 
discounted that immediately, since he had been carrying messages 
for almost a year and never had any problems with them.

	Then came the second attempt.  He spotted them almost 
immediately upon entering the Spider Silk tavern in Gahlen.  
Heavily armed, with thick fur coats covering their leather armor, 
and strange helms that looked like tiger heads lying on the table 
next to each of them.  It was the helms, more than anything, that 
gave them a rather foreign appearance.  As Hawk walked closer to 
the men, one of them saw him and nudged the others.  Without so 
much as a greeting they launched their attack, swords and knives 
flying.  Hawk met them with the same fury using the ancient skills 
of the Retter.  Skills that he had learned during his stay at the 
school.  He dispatched one assailant almost immediately, but there 
were three left.  If it had not been for the confusion among 
customers and pandemonium that broke out, Hawk would have been 
in serious trouble.

	It was the third and most recent attack that nearly took his life 
and convinced him there was a price on his head.  A veritable high 
one at that.  A group had followed him for two days after leaving 
Surik and then ambushed him.  Hawk fell asleep still thinking 
about what the large warrior had said to him on the bank of the 
Silver Lake.

	Rain patted softly off the window the next morning when 
Hawk awoke.  He was rapidly regaining strength and sat up in his 
bed, checking the bandages on his leg.  The wounds in his side and 
arm were healing quickly, but his leg, where the arrow had struck, 
burned sharply.  He touched the bandage lightly and winced.  It 
would be some time before that would fully heal.  And it might not 
fully heal at all, unless he did something.  Something he had not 
done in several years.  Hawk shuddered at the prospect.  Knowing 
he must begin to use his skills more frequently and to in greater 
depth if he thought to challenge the force that wanted him dead.

	Lying back, Hawk closed his eyes and drew back within 
himself.  Reaching for his inner strength and the power that he 
learned to use during his training as a Retter.  He found it, shaped 
it, and used it to pull the pain from his leg.  Deep in this inner 
spectrum he formed an image of a large and powerful horse 
harnessed to a great burning stone.  Slowly the horse stepped 
forward dragging the stone away from Hawk.  The stone fought 
back and flared.  Fire lanced out from its core to burn the horse.  
The mighty struggle between the two began in earnest.  White 
foam appeared on the horse's neck and back as it sweat with the 
strain of the pull.  Soon the horse reached a large river.  In a final 
effort, the stone sent a burst of flame engulfing the entire horse in 
crimson fire.  Without slowing, the powerful horse continued 
forward, striding into the river until both horse and stone sank into 
the cool waters.  A puff of white steam arose out of the river, 
dissipating into the air.
	Hawk opened his eyes and released a long, drawn out breath  
With the back of his arm he wiped the sweat from his forehead.  
Reaching down he touched his upper thigh where the bandages 
were.  A smile crept slowly onto his tired face.  No pain, he 
thought.  Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bed.

	The coolness of the cedar floor on his bare feet refreshed him 
after the heat generating, traumatic experience overcoming the 
pain.  He stood up and just as quickly sat down.  The blood leaving 
his head and rushing through his lower body was too much, too 
soon.  His head swam dizzily in lightness.  It was always a strange 
experience rising after a sickness, but this was unbearably 
nauseating.

	Hawk rubbed his temples lightly with the tips of his fingers 
and rolled his head in a small circular motion.  He stood up again 
fighting to control the faintness and sickness gnawing at his 
stomach and head.  Regaining control he looked around the room, 
searching with his hands for a candle and some flint.  He bumped 
into a small table by his bed, nearly knocking it over.  Carefully 
running his hands over the top of it he found an oil lamp with a 
sparker.  Turning a small knob on the lamp ignited the wick, 
bathing the room in a soft yellow light.  Hawk blinked several 
times, allowing his eyes to adjust to new light.  Looking around the 
room he saw his black tunic and pants mended and folded on a 
small dresser.  Next to them were his stockings and boots.  Sitting 
on the edge of his bed Hawk reached over and grabbed his 
clothing.  He dressed slowly and with care.  His wounds had 
miraculously undergone dramatic changes, but he did not want to 
chance another hardship by pushing himself.

	With the lantern in his left hand, Hawk opened the door of his 
room and walked into the hallway.  He walked down the hall 
quietly, not wanting to wake the family.  At the end of the hall he 
entered the kitchen.  He was ravenous from the minimal food he 
had eaten and the expending of energy to stay his wounds.  With a 
little searching he obtained two oranges and a small loaf of bread.  
Placing the lantern on the kitchen table he sat and began peeling an 
orange.

	Halfway through the first orange he stopped.  For a brief 
moment he sat unmoving then resumed peeling, putting the 
inedible skin in a small pile.  Behind him, standing in the shadows 
of the doorway stood Maggie and Roshay Kempter.  They didn't 
speak, just waited, watching their enigmatic quest.

	Halfway through the first orange he stopped.  For a brief 
moment he sat unmoving then resumed peeling, putting the 
inedible skin in a small pile.  Behind him, standing in the shadows 
of the doorway stood Maggie and Roshay Kempter.  They didn't 
speak, just waited, watching their enigmatic quest.
	Hawk continued until he had finished peeling the first orange.  
He held the uneaten orange in front of him and without turning 
said, "I hoped I would not have woke anyone."

	Roshay raised his eyebrows thinking Hawk had not noticed 
them.  Maggie replied, "You didn't.  Roshay and I normally get up 
early to arrange our furs before the store opens."  Both the 
Kempters moved into the kitchen, sitting at the table on either side 
of Hawk.

	Roshay raised his eyebrows thinking Hawk had not noticed 
them.  Maggie replied, "You didn't.  Roshay and I normally get up 
early to arrange our furs before the store opens."  Both the 
Kempters moved into the kitchen, sitting at the table on either side 
of Hawk.
	"I see you found breakfast?"  Said Roshay with a questioning 
look.

	"I hope you don't mind," replied Hawk.  "Surely, you have 
both been more than hospitable and generous to a stranger.  I have 
lost my belongings at Silver Lake escaping the robbers, but I wish 
to work at your Trade for a time to repay your kindness."

	"I appreciate your offer," said Roshay shifting uncomfortably 
in his chair, "but I think it would be best if you were on your way."

	"When you feel well enough," interjected Maggie giving her 
husband a stern look.

	"Yes, of course," conceited Roshay.  He wanted to add, `and 
you're looking quite well now,' but glancing at his wife he thought 
better of it.

	"Again, I thank you, and understand the danger my presence 
represents.  I will be leaving today if possible, and as soon as I can 
I will send remittance for my stay here."

	"Today?" Questioned Maggie, "you can't be well enough to 
travel this soon.  I know Bardoff is a fine healer, but he is not a 
Retter.  And even if he were I don't think you would be leaving 
this soon."

	"Some heal faster than others," was all Hawk could say.  The 
use of the term `Retter' startled him and he fumbled with his 
words.

	Roshay noticed his uneasiness, mistook it for agnosticism and 
said, "Oh Maggie, don't bring up the mystical `followers of the 
Path' again.  We haven't seen a Retter around here for more than 
ten years.  And you know the king has ended the order, closing the 
Keep for almost five years.  At least that is what we have heard 
here."

	"I'm sorry, Hawk," began Maggie.  "This is a sensitive subject 
to many people. With all the rumors of the fallen Retters and so 
forth, many people don't like to talk about the Path at all.  Most of 
us in the East still cling to the belief in the eternal Path, but many 
travelers feel that we are religious fanatics."

	Hawk smiled.  Even though he found the talk of the Keep and 
Retter unsettling, there was a comfort in Maggie's voice that 
calmed him.   "Perhaps I should stay a day or two," he said.

	"Of course," agreed Maggie, cutting off the comment her 
husband was about to make.  "We do have several skins that need 
cleaning, and if you're up to it, Bojax can use a hand repairing a 
leak in the shed."

	"I'm sure I can help," said Hawk.
	"Well now, how about some herb tea," offered Roshay.  "It 
makes that hard bread a bit softer."  Maggie got up to start the tea.  
Roshay started to stand and stopped when he felt a hand on his 
arm.

	Looking at Roshay Kempter with sincere determination Hawk 
almost whispered, "I won't forget your kindness, Sir Kempter."  A 
moment passed as the two stared at each other.  An odd sense of 
understanding passed between them and Roshay knew that 
whatever Hawk appeared to be, he was someone of unique 
background and talent.  The use of `Sir' before the surname was 
not lost on Roshay.  It was a noble term of the highest respect, 
leaving him the strong belief that this man would not forget.

	Before long the whole family was up and bustling about their 
chores.  Pahl, Derek, and Tania greeted Hawk warmly as he 
cleaned skins.  Maggie found him quite adept with his hands 
despite the shoulder wound and taught him how to cut and tether a 
rabbit skin.  The rain kept up throughout most of the day 
demanding attention to the shed.  Bojax and Roshay rearranged the 
wood in the shed so it would stay dry.  Repair of the leak would 
have to wait until the next day.  Twice during the day customers 
had come in.  One of them, a portly cook from the Inn asked about 
Hawk.  Maggie said he was doing fine and was working in the 
back.  When pressed to see him, she abruptly told the cook if he 
wanted to buy something buy it, but if not then to leave.  The cook 
left empty-handed.

	With the rain came the cool night air.  The family sat around 
the fireplace discussing the repair of the shed for when the rain let 
up.  Derek suggested that they connect an oiled leather tarp to a 
couple of poles like he saw in Gahlen at the market place.  With 
the tarp in place they could work all day in relative dryness.  
Roshay considered it, but concluded that it would not be worth the 
effort unless the rain persisted.  Hawk sat off to the side in mute 
silence.  A victim of his own thoughts, he barely heard the family 
discussion.

	Hawk reflected back to the attack at Silver Lake,  
remembering the glowing red eyes of the warrior who faced him 
and the black sword that had pierced his shoulder.  That warrior 
was not the average clansman from the South and his sword was 
definitely more that a great sword.  When it cut him, it burned like 
fire to his very core.  He knew if he had not had the training of the 
Retter he would have perished.

	Retter.  The word stuck in his mind.  That is what the warrior 
had called him.  Yet, he was not a Retter.  A Retter wore white, 
symbolically referencing the Light of the Path or center of their 
belief.  A Retter also wielded the ancient Protectorates; some type 
of living stone cylinders with immense wisdom and power.  He, on 
the other hand, dressed in black, which to himself signified shame.  
And he had never earned the right to hold Protectorates.  There was 
some truth to the words, however.  A Retter had trained him and he 
spent some time at the Retter complex, known as the Keep.  But it 
had been many years since he was last there.  He had not even 
given it much thought until the strange attacks began.

	Hawk let his thoughts drift to what Roshay had said that 
morning.  He had said that the Retter were all but non-existent and 
that the king had closed the school of training and contemplation 
for Retter and that the Keep had been closed for almost five years.  
Could this actually be true?  Personally, he had not seen any Retter 
since he left the Keep, but that didn't mean anything.  He was a 
recluse, never spending more than a day in any town.  He preferred 
the wilderness, and as such, was not privy to the general 
information that belonged to most.  The Kempter family lived far 
East.  News from the West would certainly be tainted by the time it 
reached any town east of Gahlen.  Still, he needed to know.  He 
had not planned to return to the Keep, but with no other real 
destination it was as good a choice as any.  Maybe he would lose 
the band of Southerners.  Or perhaps they would lose interest when 
they realized he was traveling into the heart of the kingdom.

	Whatever he did, Hawk decided, he must do it immediately.  
He had put the family and possibly the village in jeopardy by his 
remaining.  He would leave before dawn.

	Pounding on the door of the Trade brought Hawk out of his 
internal meandering.  Tania lay sleeping in her Mother's lap and 
Pahl and Derek adjusted a log on the fire.  Bojax Freed and Roshay 
exchanged surprised looks and rose out of their chairs.

	"It's a little late for customers," whispered Roshay, as the two 
headed for the shop area.
	"Yes, it is," replied Bojax Freed.  Reaching into his coat he 
brandished a small hunting knife.  He turned it blade up, with the 
back resting against the inside of his forearm.  He held the handle 
cupped in his fingers making it virtually invisible until needed.  
Roshay looked at him questioningly and he replied with a shrug, 
"an old bar brawl trick."

	The pounding sounded again as the two made it to the front 
door.  Through closed shutters Roshay could see the illumination 
of several torches.  With a slight hesitation he called out through 
the closed door.  "We're closed for the night, the Inn is three 
blocks to the east."

	There were a few grumbles from outside, then a gruff voice 
replied, "open up, keeper, were are members of the Eastern 
Brigade.  We are here on official business."

	Roshay looked at Bojax Freed, who shook his head. They both 
understood what this meant.  The Brigade wasn't due in Aubon for 
at least another day and certainly would not be calling on him in 
the middle of the night.  Either something serious was happening 
or these were impostors.  Watching his friend bring the knife into a 
fighting grip, Roshay knew he thought the same thing...impostors.

	"Um, state the manner of your business," Roshay weakly 
improvised.  Obviously there were Auboners watching this display 
or soon would be.  If he could keep them out front long enough, 
they might not risk the attention.

	"Open up and we'll discuss it," replied the other.  Then he 
added belatedly, "My men are tired and wet and in no mood for 
bantering."

	"I have a right to know your business, sir."
	There was a short silence and then some mumbling that 
neither Roshay or Bojax could understand.  Then came the answer, 
"You are harboring a murderer and his accomplices."

	Roshay's eyes widened. "What?" He said.
	"We have been informed that a man in black is staying here 
and was brought into town by two boys.  This man has killed one 
of our Brigadiers and escaped from the dead man's companion by 
the help of two boys."

	Roshay signaled to Bojax Freed who was already standing in 
the hallway that led back to the house.  Bojax Freed knew exactly 
what Roshay wanted: to get the boys and Hawk out of the house 
and possibly out of town.  Quietly he ran down the hallway and 
into the den.  He tucked the knife back into his coat and grabbed 
two rain resistant coats that were hanging on wall hooks.  He knew 
Roshay would stall the supposed Brigadiers as long as possible.  
This was a dangerous game they played and delay could mean 
death.

	Bursting into the family room, Bojax tossed the two coats to 
the boys.  They caught them with astonished looks on their faces.  
He looked for Hawk, but the black clad man was not around.  "Get 
your boots on, and put on those coats," he said crossing the room 
toward the kitchen.  "And where's Hawk?"

	"I'm here," came the reply.  Hawk was standing in the 
doorway to the kitchen, two satchels in one arm and a rain cloak in 
the other.  "I take it we have unwelcome customers?"

	"What is going on here Bojax?"  Asked Maggie.  She was 
now standing in the middle of the room holding the sleeping Tania.
	"No time to explain," replied Bojax.  "Hawk, I took the 
stallion down to the river.  He's tied next to an old shed.  There are 
several mares grazing in the area.  Get the horses and make for 
Gahlen.  Go straight to the Constables office.  We will meet you 
there in two nights.  After the Brigade arrives we will come."

	Hawk nodded.  he turned toward Maggie.  "The boys we'll be 
fine," he said.  And he meant it.  Without further word the two 
boys and Hawk went out the back door into the stormy night.

	Maggie visibly winced as the door shut behind them.  She sat 
back down and tried to act casual.  Bojax picked up the fire poker 
and prodded at the logs.  They both could hear arguing in the shop 
and more than once Bojax Freed felt tempted to get his sword.  He 
fought back the urge, knowing it would only destroy the deception.

	The voices grew louder.  Footsteps pounded down the hallway 
and four wet, armed men walked into the room followed by a 
concerned Roshay Kempter.  A casual glance at Bojax removed 
any doubt that the boys had left and Roshay stood more easily.

	"I told you that they left this morning to Rorshauk for rain 
canvas," said Roshay.  "They won't be back until next week."

	"Then you won't mind if we look around," sneered one of the 
soldiers.  They spread out, going into the kitchen and back 
bedrooms.

	"Hunny, what is this about?"  Maggie asked in mock surprise.
	"They think Derek and Pahl were involved in a crime.  
Obviously a case of mistaken identities."

	Bojax Freed simply watched the men trudge around the house.  
He acted as though they had been intruded upon falsely, but added 
a touch of disinterest to alleviate suspicion.  He now knew for 
certain the men were not Eastern Brigadiers.  First, they had a look 
and demeanor of common soldiers or mercenaries, not hunters.  
Second, only one of them, the leader, wore an Eastern Brigade 
Hunters Clasp.  And third, the Brigadiers were never this forceful 
in any providence of the Kingdom.  If someone had committed a 
crime, they would let the local authorities handle the arrests.

	Bojax kept his observations to himself.  If all went well, the 
soldiers would give up and spend the night at the Inn, leaving in 
the morning to Rorshauk.  This would send them in the opposite 
direction of Gahlen.  With any luck the real Eastern Brigade would 
arrive early and hunt this group down like rabid dogs.

	Hawk and the boys slipped out the back unnoticed.  Several 
local residents were conversing with the armed men at the front of 
the Trade.  Hawk prayed his luck would hold out.  If they had 
guarded the exits...he left the thought unfinished.  The three 
quickly made their way through the small field in back, across a 
side street and down a back road that led to the river.  It was dark 
to the point of complete blackness, but Pahl and Derek knew their 
town well.  They led confidently with Hawk a step behind.

	The two boys did not know what to make of the situation, fear 
and adrenaline pushed them.  Hawk was sufficiently sure of their 
adversaries to maintain a level of confidence and quick thinking.  
He knew they were not the southern warriors from before, but most 
likely hired mercenaries of Nordenland,  keeping the southerners 
incognito.  They should not have any problem getting to the horses 
and then to Gahlen.  Still, he would take precautions.

	They reached the stallion without incident.  Hawk found the 
saddle in the old shed with some rope.  He gave the rope to Pahl 
and Derek, telling them to round up two of the mares.  Hawk was 
no horseman, but he had done enough riding to easily saddle and 
bridle the stallion.  There were not any extra saddles in the shed, so 
the boys would have to ride bareback.  In this country it was 
common for the less fortunate to ride without a saddle; they would 
not look like fugitives once they reached the main highway.  Tying 
on the provisions he had prepared at the house, Hawk leaned back 
against the old shed.  Somewhat protected from the rain, he waited 
for the boys to return.

	"We have found nothing, sir.  They must be in Rorshauk by 
now."  Three soldiers stood in the family room disgusted looks 
across their faces.  Without a word the one whom the last soldier 
had spoken to, turned and stalked out of the room, the others 
following close behind.

	Roshay and Bojax stood at the front of the Fur Trade watching 
as the four would be Brigadiers met their companions.  There were 
eight of them altogether.  After a brief discussion with a town 
council member they climbed on their horses and rode in direction 
of Rorshauk, their torches flickering in the wind and rain.

	Most of the residents had gone home earlier, but the few who 
weathered the rain now sauntered back to their warm homes.  The 
council member remained.  It was Bardoff, the Healer.  He walked 
over to where Roshay Kempter and Bojax Freed stood in the open 
doorway of the Fur Trade.

	"It appears are visitors are leaving disappointed."
	Both Roshay and Bojax shrugged.  Roshay said, "You know, 
the Brigade isn't due here until tomorrow."

	"I know," said Bardoff.  A smile creeping to his face.  "I told 
our friends that very same thing.  I guess they have urgent business 
elsewhere."

	Bojax raised his eyebrows and Roshay laughed openly.  
Roshay stepped out of the doorway into the rain.  He looked to 
where Hawk and the boys would have gone.  He started toward the 
river when Bojax grabbed his arm.

	"Don't worry about them," Bojax said to his friend.  "They're 
in no real danger.  After the Brigade gets here we can saddle up 
some horses and meet them in Gahlen.  It will do them some good 
going on a night ride like this."

	"You're right, my friend," said Roshay.  Turning to the Healer 
he said, "Why don't you come in for a cup of Maggie's famous 
herb tea?"

	"If she has some of those crumb cakes, I would be delighted," 
the Healer chuckled.  "You know, dealing with riff raff can make a 
man hungry."  Even Bojax laughed at his statement.

	The boys will be fine, thought Roshay.  A late night trip to 
Gahlen and a few days on their own will give them good 
experience. He just hoped he could convince Maggie of his 
optimism.