fur exchange until the war between the Dwarves and the Fed-
eration disrupted and finally put an end altogether to Eastland
commerce north of Culhaven. Now it stood empty, its doors and
windows gone, its roof rotted and sagging, its shadows filled
with ghosts from another time.
At lunch, huddled beneath the canopy of a massive old willow
that overhung the banks of the river, Steff talked uneasily of the
Gnawl, insisting again that one had never before been seen west
of the Ravenshom. Where did this one come from? How did it
happen to be here? Why had it chosen to track them? There
were answers to his questions, of course, but none that any of
them cared to explore. Chance, they all agreed outwardly, and
inwardly thought just the opposite.
The rain slowed with the approach of nightfall, but continued
in a steady drizzle until morning, when it changed to a heavy
mist. The company pushed on, following the Chard Rush as it
wound its way down into Darklin Reach. Travel grew increas-
ingly difficult, the forests thick with brush and fallen timber, the
pathways almost nonexistent. When they left the river at mid-
day, the terrain transformed itself into a series of gullies and
ravines, and it became almost impossible to determine their
direction. They slogged through the mud and debris, Steff in the
lead, grunting and huffing rhythmically. The Dwarf was like a
tireless machine when he traveled, tough and seemingly inex-
haustible. Only Teel was his equal, smaller than Steff but more
agile, never slowing or complaining, always keeping pace. It
was the Valemen and the Highlander who grew tired, their mus-
cles stiffened, their wind spent. They welcomed every chance
to rest that the Dwarf offered them, and when it was time to
start up again it was all they could do to comply. The dreariness
of their travel was beginning to affect them as well, especially
the Valemen. Par and Coil had been running either from or
toward something for weeks now, had spent much of that time
in hiding, and had endured three very frightening encounters
with creatures best left to one’s imagination. They were tired of
keeping constant watch, and the darkness, mist, and damp just
served to exhaust them further. Neither said anything to the
other, and neither would have admitted it if the other had asked,
but both were starting to wonder if they really knew what they
were doing.
It was late afternoon when the rain finally stopped, and the
clouds suddenly broke apart to let through a smattering of sun-
light. They crested a ridge and came upon a shallow, forested
valley dominated by a strange rock formation shaped like a
chimney. It rose out of the trees as if a sentinel set at watch,
black and still against the distant skyline. Steff brought the oth-
ers to a halt and pointed down.
“There,” he said quietly. “If Walker Boh’s to be found, this
is the place he’s said to be.”
Par shoved aside his exhaustion and despondency, staring in
disbelief. “I know this place!” he exclaimed. “This is Hearth-
stone! I recognize it from the stories! This is Cogline’s home!”
“Was,” Coil corrected wearily.
“Was, is, what’s the difference?” Par was animated as he
confronted them. “The point is, what is Walker Boh doing here?
I mean, it makes sense that he would be here because this was
once the home of the Bohs, but it was Cogline’s home as well.
If Walker lives here, then why didn’t the old man tell us? Unless
maybe the old man isn’t Cogline after all or unless for some
reason he doesn’t know Walker is here, or unless Walker …”
He stopped suddenly, confused to the point of distraction. “Are
you sure this is where my uncle is supposed to live?” he de-
manded of Steff.
The Dwarf had been watching him during all this the same
way he might have watched a three-headed dog. Now he simply
shrugged. “Valeman, I am sure of very little and admit to less.
I was told this was where the man makes his home. So if you’re
all done talking about it, why don’t we simply go down there