ing night. Beyond, the Rainbow Lake spread away in a glimmer
of silver, the surrounding forests a dark, irregular mass that
buzzed and hummed with life, the smell of leaves, earth, and
grasses wafting sweetly on the summer air.
Coil Ohmsford took a deep breath and smiled. He was free.
He would have preferred to wait until it was completely
dark, but he couldn’t chance the delay. It wouldn’t be long be-
fore he was missed. Crouching low against the sawgrass, he
sprinted from the shadows of the wall into the trees.
From the window of a darkened room thirty feet up, Rim-
mer Dali watched him go.
THERE WAS NEVER ANY QUESTION in Coil Ohmsford’s mind as
to where he would go. He worked his way through the trees
that separated Southwatch from the Mermidon, chose a quiet
narrows a mile or so upstream, swam the river, and began his
trek toward Tyrsis and his brother. He did not know how he
would find Par once he reached the city; he would worry about
that later. His most immediate concern was that the Shadowen
were already searching for him. They seemed to materialize with-
in moments of his escape, black shadows that slipped through
the night like wraiths at haunt, silent and spectral. But if they
saw him, and he was certain they must have, the Mirrorshroud
disguised him from them. They passed without slowing, without
interest, disappearing as anonymously as they had come.
But so many of them!
Oddly enough, the cloak seemed to give him a heightened
sense of who and where they were. He could feel their presence
before he saw them, know from which direction they ap-
proached, and discern in advance how many there were. He did
not try to hide from them; after all, if the cloak’s magic failed,
they would search him out in any case. Instead, he tried to
appear as an ordinary traveler, keeping to the open grasslands,
to the roads when he found them, walking easily, casually, try-
ing not to look furtive.
Somehow it all worked. Though the Shadowen were all
about, obviously hunting him, they could not seem to tell who
he was.
He slept for a few hours before dawn and resumed his jour-
ney at daybreak. He thought on more than one occasion to
remove the cloak, but the presence of so many of the black
things kept him from doing so. Better to be safe, he told himself.
After all, as long as he wore the cloak, he would not be found
out.
He passed other travelers on the road as he went. None
seemed interested in what they saw of him. A few offered greet-
ings. Most simply passed him by.
He wondered how he appeared to them. He must not have
seemed someone they recognized or they would have said some-
thing. He must have seemed an ordinary traveler. It made him
wonder why Rimmer Dali had looked like his father in the cloak.
It made him wonder why the magic acted differently toward
him.
The first day passed swiftly, and he camped in a small copse
of ash still within view of the Runne. The sun collapsed behind
the Westland forests in a splash of red-gold, and the warm night
air was scented by grassland wildflowers. He built a fire and ate
wild fruit and vegetables. He had a craving for meat, but no real
way to catch any. The stars came out, and the night sounds
died.
Again the Shadowen appeared, hunting him. Sometimes they
came close-and again he was reluctant to remove the cloak.
He did so long enough to wash, careful to keep concealed within
the trees, and then quickly put it back on again. He was finding
it more comfortable to wear now, less constricting and less un-
familiar. He was actually growing to like the sense of invisibility
it gave him.
He went on again at first light, striding out across the grass-
lands, fixing on the dark edges of the Dragon’s Teeth where
they broke the blue skyline north. Just this side of those moun-
tains lay Tyrsis and Par. The heat of this new day seemed more
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