Excerpt from the book:

"Three days of storm is unnatural at this time of year," Breogan snarled to any who would listen as they huddled by the fire. Khryorian had found a place where they were relatively sheltered from the rain except for the periodic downpour. It was a small place, so they all were forced to remain fairly close to each other, which only added to everyone’s displeasure.

"That witch calls these storms to torment us!" Tymbraeon hissed as a large drop of cold water fell on the back of his neck and wormed its way between his shoulder blades. He squirmed, bumping against Breogan who pushed back. Donn rolled his eyes at the antics of the two while Amallioran sought to keep a fight from breaking out.

"In her own lands, Scena is a favorite of each of the gods of the four winds, and of the God of the North Wind in particular," Megin spoke from where she huddled under her cloak. Her faery magic had helped her remain more comfortable than the others, but not entirely dry from the rains that they had endured. "And you will notice that this storm comes from the North."

"Bah! No god other than Vergento can speak in this land!" Tymbraeon glared at her, in his misery forgetting how he had been trying to woo her just days before.

"That is where you are wrong, Tymbraeon. There are many gods and goddesses who speak in this land. You just don’t have the ears to hear them." Megin’s lavender eyes glowed unnaturally from under her hood.

Tymbraeon’s eyes found Khryorian, "Do you still feel the same fondness for a woman who would do this to you?!"

"If I were pursued by rogues such as yourself and I could torment you with rain storms, I would do it." Khryorian smiled at him, "However, I suspect that if she could cause this storm, she could also bring lightning which would be of far more concern than the mere discomfort of the rain."

Tymbraeon spat, saying nothing further. Khryorian also fell silent, knowing full well that his words would take root in Tymbraeon’s active imagination.

Tymbraeon huddled under his cloak, miserable and shivering. Being half elf, his fine looks had not faded to the same bedraggled image as those who were human, but he was certainly far less grand than he had been in the City of Ereg-Corona. Khryorian’s bright eyes noted that Tymbraeon’s angry temperament was showing more quickly than he had expected.

"She will pay for this insult!" Tymbraeon muttered under his breath.

"First you will prove that she is responsible for the insult," Khryorian’s words sent whispers of warning to everyone in the group.

"You are quick to protect a woman who intends to destroy our lands, Khryorian," Balthasar’s bass voice rumbled. "Perhaps you’ve found no tracks because you intend to find none."

Amallioran and Donn watched the exchange warily. Khryorian calmly drank more of his tea before speaking. "First we have to cross their path and they may not have come this far east. Secondly, with the rains we have had, finding tracks is very unlikely even if we should happen to cross a path that they have traveled. " Khryorian’s eyes flicked upwards from his drink, now meeting Balthasar’s, "And I invite you to be responsible for the tracking if you feel that you can do any better."

Balthasar’s hand swept down to his sword as he came to his feet. Amallioran was surprised when it was Breogan who stopped Balthasar, not Tymbraeon. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.

"We are all out of sorts!" Breogan’s eyes had not left Balthasar. "And need to keep our tongues still or we will be fighting each other and not those that we set out to destroy!"

"Perhaps that is her intent!" Tymbraeon snarled.

"Then let us school ourselves to thwart her in the effort. Hold your tongues until there is something meaningful to be said." Breogan now turned his attention to Khryorian. "And let us remember what we set out to do."

The eyes of the two men met across the fire. It was Breogan who looked away first. Khryorian then met Balthasar’s eyes. Balthasar snorted mightily and seated himself before turning a baleful glare in the direction of their small fire.

Donn had continued watching Tymbraeon. He noted how Tymbraeon’s shoulders now hunched together at each flash of lightning. I have yet to see Khryorian miss his mark. Donn thought to himself. And this night was not an exception. But all he did was add fuel to the half-elf’s hatred of the North People.

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