Andrew had sat in the back of the wagon as the group left the village behind. The pull through the veil put Andrew on edge. That magic was a part of him and it pulled at his soul.

The change came quickly. The sun seemed less welcoming. The wind was constant in its howling. The world changed before his eyes. There in the back he fingered the prayer book. It spoke of hope and love, things that seemed to be in shorter and shorter supply. Fear crept into his heart and he started to panic. Was he in over his head? Could he even help the group? Doubt filled his mind like a poison. Hearing Osric's song gave him hope. "It will be find, everything will be fine, we will set things right," he whispered to himself. Those at the monastery sang to fight off the forces of darkness. Even the laments retained the power of hope, because someone was there to sing them. Even Andrew’s soul sang when he chanted the protective magic of veils. Those were the prayers moved in his heart and mind even while he struggled with the routine liturgical prayers.

Throwing a prayer skyward asking the Holy Mother for aid, Andrew made a sign of reverence. Reassured Andrew sat up a little and started to take in the surrounding land. It was not just lifeless but it felt foreboding. He did not have the words for what he felt or saw, but deep inside he knew that this was a dangerous place. Eventually, the group came to rest. Night would be on them soon. He dismouted the wagon and hurried to gather sticks and branches. Placing them next to the fire ring. He was unsure what to do next. Going to the back he took out a small cookpot. Filling it with water from a skin, he placed it next to the soon to be fire. Opening another bag her grabbed a bag of rice, dried beef, onion, carrot and potato. These he diced up with a small knife. Once the fire was up, he placed the pot on the flames. Looking to the group, "I can make a nice stew if anyone is interested." he said. It felt good to help. Taking out five wooden bowls and spoons, he placed them next to the cooking pot. Andrew looked out, the sun was setting fast and shadows seemed to creep forward with each passing minute. Scanning, he saw nothing moving. Though for some reason he felt as if they were being watched. Shaking his head, he turned back to the fire.

The young Novice sat stirring the stew waiting till all was tender. The aroma from the pot was smelled wonderful after the days ride. Seeing that the potatoes had softened, he removed the pot from the fire. Taking a ladle, he filled each bowl with a hearty serving. Still no one had moved to take any food. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts. Calling out "Stew is ready when you want it," Andrew placed the pot aside and pulled up a spot near the fire. Spooning a bite to his lips, the warmth spread through him. It tasted as good as it smelled. The vegetables had a slight crunch and the beef was full of flavor. Chewing slowly, the young man closed his eyes. Visions of the day played in his mind. So much was new and unknown to him. Fear continued to creep into the edges of his thoughts. The land's starkness was an outer sign of an inner sickness. Healers say that wounds need to be cleaned before being bandaged. Perhaps their journey was the cleansing of the world's wounds. Once finished, new life would spring forth. Inside the Barrier, the Mother's song was strong. Outside he heard only the faint whispers. Opening his eyes, he stared into the fire. Though flames danced, there was no warmth. Rubbing his hands together, he pulled his cloak tighter. A shudder ran through him as the feeling of being watched returned. Looking around the camp, no one else seemed to notice. Saying a quick prayer, he grabbed his bowl and slowly ate the stew. His eyes darted around the camp, looking for any sign of danger.

Six men crouched tensely behind a wide boulder in the gathering twilight, occasionally daring quick glances over the upper edge of the stone. They watched as a distant wagon rattled along the road in the company of two riders. Most of them were in a rough way, and looked it. Bleary eyes looked out from gaunt faces obscured by scars and thick stubble. Odd scraps of mismatched, dented mail and plate were laid over the rags they called clothing. Even their weapons, the tools of their trade, were rusted and notched. Young and old, all were bent of back and broken of spirit; all but one, and it was to him that the others turned expectantly.

“What do ye think, m'laird?” asked one of the old-timers, shaking head and adjusting his battered straw hat, “Ah cannae ken it, meself.”

The lord nodded thoughtfully and the high, arcing crest atop his open-faced helm bobbed slightly. Though he, too, looked the worse for wear, it was clear from a glance that he fared far better than his underlings. His armor lacked polish, but the silk lacing was tight and even, each and every one of its many plates hanging straight. He was well into middle age, but his body was strong and his eyes were vital.

“They came down from the mountains, of course.” he said, “They certainly didn't come from one of the strongholds. For one thing they're going the wrong way, and look: they have no banner that I can see. They're outlanders for sure.”

There was some muttering at these observations. A banner denoting allegiance to a warlord was a necessity for traveling with even a modicum of safety in Watshire. Only fools or foreigners would dare to do without one. As fools lacking such a token themselves, they all knew well how dangerous that was.

“I expect they'll have food and supplies,” he went on, “how long has it been since we've eaten? One day? Two? I've lost track.”

“We ett that palie hind just yestreen,” said the old-timer, “wisna much tae him, tho.”

“Hellfire! I'm so hungry,” complained one of the younger men, unslinging his bow from his back, “let's rush 'em now, before anyone else shows up.”

This suggestion was met with general approval, and most of the others drew their own weapons in anticipation of a charge. None dared to leave the safety of their concealment without leave, however excited they may have been.

“No!” the lord said, laying a menacing hand on the hilt of the fine sword at his belt, “We must be patient and wait for nightfall. There can't be many of them, but either bravery or madness brought them here, and the mad can prove as dangerous as the brave.” he paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully, “That beside, I want to make sure we take at least one of them alive. I know some strange mischief let that knight escape us on the road. If we can wring the truth out of some skulking mountain-folk, Daeron might rethink this whole exile business.”

The young man, abashed, returned his bow with a quick nod. “Well you say, lord. All those thralls would set us up nice. I hear them demons is paying good for 'em, now. Naught but fresh beef and good bread for us then.”

The lord smirked. “Don't be greedy, lad. One will be enough, though we might bag two or three if they're careless enough. We'll kill the rest to be safe; just take care not to hurt the horses. I'm sick to death of walking in this armor, and riding back to Gumbleston is style will be a nice reversal of our fortunes.”

So the men watched their distant prey, biding their time. But they were not alone.

---

Osric frowned at Revna's complaint. In truth he had no great love for the song, nor for the prince whose fate it lamented. The only reason he knew it at all was because Brother Hamish was constantly singing it under his breath in the infirmary; always, as if it were a prayer. Whether he was making poultices, grinding herbs, or even performing surgery, if he was there the song was, too. But it never quite made sense to Osric. If the last Pendish heir really had died with all his remaining followers, hunted and forsaken, how could anyone have so memorialized him? Surely demons and their servants were not so sentimental.

Still, the complaint rankled. All he had interrupted was an uncomfortable silence. The woman's contemptuous reference to 'those boring hymns' put him in a mind to grace her with the full text of the Te Deam, of course sung in the slow, traditional plainchant. But the sight of her opening a wound with a dagger drove the thought right out of his head, and his frown gave way to a look of concern.

“I wish you had mentioned your injury, and I pray you let me examine it when we stop. I am the best healer in the Order, and should be able to set it right quickly enough.” he paused, thoughtfully, “Well, perhaps I am the second best healer. But you will find my bedside manner much more agreeable than you would Father Waleran's.”

Osric wasn't bragging, merely stating a fact generally acknowledged in the Monastery. He was very good, and well he should be; he had studied the healing arts with a single-mindedness that bordered on the obsessive, and at the expense of almost every other magical field. He could barely manage wards, was hopeless with offensive spells, and knew only enough of illusion to conjure dubious light-shows and unconvincing phantom-sounds.

He returned his attention to Katrina when she spoke. He drove the wagon as she directed, more thankful than ever for her guidance. He knew only the broad strokes of military strategy, but he certainly knew an advantageous position when he saw one. It provided shelter from the elements, easy access to fuel should they wish to risk a fire, and a much more defensible campsite than the open roadside would have provided. Glancing up, he saw dark clouds in the western sky. A good way off, yet, but they appeared to be moving in their direction. With luck, avoiding a soaking would be their most serious concern tonight.

“Wonderful!” he said, and he meant it. Strange, that such a grim, forbidding place should make him feel better. But it did. He had already nearly forgotten the fretful, anxious hours of the day's journey, and the unpleasant daydreams of a short while ago.

Osric watched as Andrew hustled off to gather firewood. The lad had been quiet on the road, no doubt on account of his nerves. It was heartening to see him so eager to be busy, now. Saint Antonia had said that honest work was a form of prayer, and, having lived most of his life by her Rule, the monk was inclined to agree. That food was in the offing had nothing to do with it.

“I expect we are all interested in dinner, lad,” he said, smiling thinly, “thank you.”

Sage had also been quiet, and Osric wondered what unspoken thoughts remained locked in her head. He was beginning to regret the loss of their former closeness. They had been almost like siblings, once, and he very much still thought of her like a younger sister. So it hurt a little that she had not sought to confide in him on the road, but he knew that was unfair. He had done just the same thing. It seemed that he would have to move first to bridge the gap between them, but he had work of his own to do yet.

Without further delay he approached Revna. “I think it best I attend to your wound before we eat. I can work quickly, and we will both be hungrier afterward.” Insistent, but polite. Rudeness to a woman that could doubtless tear his arms off was, of course, out of the question.

"Just down there, I slept there for a week once."

"Nice place. Seems cozy," Revna said, looking up at the rocky outcropping perched on the hill above them. Strategically, it wasn't the worst place to sleep for the night, Revna considered. Sheltered, with high ground would let them see anyone approaching from the surrounding flatland for a mile. That was in the day, though. At night, with the new moons hidden from them and the starlight blocked by stormclouds, they would simply have to stand guard and strain their eyes against the darkness. Then, there was the cliff. Revna thought it was nice to have only one direction any would-be foes could approach from, but if they needed to run, their options would be limited. This didn't matter too much for Revna though. Didn't plan on running if it came to it.

“I wish you had mentioned your injury, and I pray you let me examine it when we stop. I am the best healer in the Order, and should be able to set it right quickly enough.” he paused, thoughtfully, “Well, perhaps I am the second best healer. But you will find my bedside manner much more agreeable than you would Father Waleran's.”

Her strategic musings were interrupted by Brother Osric scolding her for not addressing her cut sooner. Revna just grunted in response, visibly annoyed. I’m going to go mad if he pesters me every time I get a scratch. She chose to simply ignore him, hoping he'd let the matter go.

The party rode up the hill, carefully guiding their mounts into the sheltered rocks before dismounting. Revna didn't bother hobbling Valdur, and the stallion didn't bother leaving to search for food. Even a beast knew there was nothing living for miles. She pulled some fodder from the wagon and left it on the rocky ground for the animals before setting up her makeshift quarters for the night, pressed against the rock walls for any protection the overhang might provide.

Revna inspected the campsite closer as she tossed her saddle onto the ground for a makeshift pillow. The dried and rotting hides and burnt-out campfire, now being brought back to life by Andrew, suggested Katrina had been here for some time. "Nice of you to clean up for us," Revna said to Katrina, tilting her chin towards the scattered bones near the crumbling rack. Revna idly wondered what Katrina's life must have been like before arriving in the Seven Villages, the first time she'd done so. If this "home" of hers was any hint, Revna suspected she'd been borderline feral, living almost like a beast. Perhaps that was how most humans lived beyond the Barrier's protection. She felt a mix of pity and disgust, both for Katrina and the whole human race, having been brought so low by the demonic invaders that they hid their entire lives now, like rats in a barn.

"So, is everything like this outside the villages? Just dead lands as far as you can see? Would make for a dull journey," Revna asked as she settled into her spot, leaning against the stone wall. She felt the rock leak back the day’s meager heat.

She watched the fire grow from embers and into something roaring and comforting. Her eyes glowed red as the coals within as she stared into the flame's depths. The tendrils sawed in the wind and the embers paled and deepened like a living creature breathing, or like the blood beat of something eviscerated on the ground before them pumping out the last of its life force. Revna's hypnotic trance was broken by the smell of food and more pestering.

“I think it best I attend to your wound before we eat. I can work quickly, and we will both be hungrier afterward.”

She sighed deeply. He hadn't forgotten after all, their diligent monk.

"Brother Orkik, I've had love bites worse than this,” she said in an icy tone, casually rolling up her tunic’s sleeve to reveal several jagged and twisting scars carved into her skin. “It’s nothing. It'll heal in time, as they always do.” Every wound she'd ever taken on her flesh was treated by herself, her father, or her village's quack doctor, but she prided herself on never seeking the Order's help, despite their reputation for healing. The mere idea of bowing before those foreign gods for some small favor made her stomach churn.

Revna managed to stop this train of thought before she lost her temper. They weren't even a day into their journey and she was already struggling to control it. Revna wasn't known for her peaceful disposition, but this overreaction was out of character. She took a heavy breath and unclenched her fists.

"Alright, fine. But make it quick, will you? I'm taking first watch, and I'd like to get some food before Sage eats the whole pot," she said, trying to sound friendlier. It didn't work. She moved her saddle next to her so Osric could sit while he worked his craft on her and closed her eyes against the sun's last, meager rays that crept through the sliver of sky above them.

The hole they managed to find for themselves for the night was probably the best they could ask for in a place such as this. Sage dismounted her horse and took a few treats from her bag to give to him. This was the start of a long ride, She wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible. Positive reinforcement would be a great thing. Gast was then let to the hay Revna had put down to enjoy a well-deserved dinner. Immediately she started to look for ways to make herself useful. For instance using a little fire magic to light the fire for Andrew. Helping to clear space for bedding by pulling and moving any wilted plants on the ground.

There was thing for sure about her, Sage wasn't comfortable being useless.

It wasn't long before her own bedding and makeshift covering was set up against the wall. An abode she was sure she'd get used to calling home.

As she went to grab a bowl of food, famished, she couldn't help but feel sorry for both Osric and Revna. Osric was a very selfless person. He always had been the first to rush to someone's aid. Revna wasn't one to like having magic heal her wounds. Sage had patched enough of them to know that no matter how bad, Revna preferred the scars. Therefore, the interaction between the two was awkward. One wanted to help and the other wanted to be left alone. It did make her happy to see the tough woman pacify the poor man as to not cause conflict.

"Thank you for the food, no doubt you're tired as well. It's appreciated," Sage said to Andrew with a tired smile before taking her bowl over to the wall to eat at the end of her cot. The warmth from the food made her aching body feel such relief. Warm food at the end of a long day was one of life's greatest pleasures. Once done with her food she set the bowl down and simply leaned against the wall watching everyone in front of her before looking at her hands.

A wilted plant on the ground next to her made her curious so she decided to experiment and let magic course through her body. Envisioning what she wanted she touched the tip of the plant. A vibrant green started to return to it as what she assumed was a fern came back to life. Sage materialized some water from the air and drenched the poor thing. She smiled with the realization that not even this desolate place was incapable of life at all. It was reassuring.

It felt different to her to be able to finally use her magic so freely.

She took the necklace around her neck out from under her shirt and studied it. A blood red crystal attached to a solid cord by strings of gold. It had been around her neck as long as she could remember. If she could recall correctly one of the sisters had said it had been found with her as an infant. Her whole life she wondered if it was a parting gift from her mother. It supposedly was a magic relic, yet no matter how much she had studied it remained a mystery. Maybe on this journey she could finally make sense of it.

---

While the others unloaded everything, prepared their meal for the evening and tended to the horses, Katrina watched the horizon. It was true that people virtually never came through this place, but Katrina didn't travel by wagon or horse. Warlords were more likely to attack a caravan than a scout, based solely on the size of the contingent. A bigger target, and the presence of horses meant someone had means, and means usually meant someone had food. In a barren place such as Moonhorn Ridge, food was a commodity. You either had it, or you left before you starved. Everyone else seemed comfortable enough not to bitch about the vantage point she has "secured" for them. That much was good at least.

"Everything on the continent not ruled hand over-iron fist's some shade of what you're seeing here. Strongholds keep their subjects fed off Hell's meat, the dead or pitiful scraps of meat they can scrape off an animal more trouble than its worth. You'll be lucky to find green grass behind the walls of any place these days, and those usually got magic from somewhere... And you're lucky not to be chained by the holy men if that's the case." Bluntly, Katrina described this brave new world that these holy headaches had stepped into. Katrina was born into, and hardened by the apocalypse. They didn't have a prayer... Actually, they had many, but few would stave off a demon. While Sage played with the grass, Katrina climb onto the top of the wagon, at its highest point, and sat there, watching all around her. Normally, Katrina didn't eat much anyway. With all these people around, she wanted to be on the lookout and ready to incinerate something at the smallest suggestion of unwanted company. That would be an interesting way to reveal her magical tendencies to the group as a whole. But it would be necessary.

Katrina had met people before that were capable of magic. Self-proclaimed "masters" who didn't stand so much as a chance against blood-red fire. Those were often the wild cards, the most dangerous people were the ones you couldn't read or predict. For this reason, Katrina assumed she was always the least dangerous person where she went, that everyone could be a credible threat until she proved herself wrong. Even Osric could pose a threat to her, with his healing magic.

"When night falls for good, make sure that fire goes low. Someone sneaks up on us, they'll have enough moonlight to see past the trees," She advised, settling in atop the wagon and into lookout duty.

Andrew listened to Revna and Brother Osric debate the need for healing wounds. Wounds were opening for the demonic influences to get into your blood and to your heart and mind. That was one of the things he had learned in the healing class he attended. Tying knots in bandages was the other thing. He placed bowls near them and tried not to interrupt the casting.

Andrew smiled in appreciation to Sage. She was right. He was tired. He had spent to much time thinking and the demonic influences whispered in the back of his mind. The only defense he knew was to maintain his discipline and perform the rituals that he had come to know.
"There are prayers to be offered, dishes to be washed, and a ward yet to be set for the night, Mother willing," he added as he replied to Sage.

Katrina was still on edge. She did not seem to want to eat. Andrew would eat a second bowl, wasting food out here would be almost criminal. His magic would take some energy to cast.

Alone his ward would keep the food from spoiling and the water from going foul. It should also keep the horses near them.

As he started to cleanup, Andrew watched some ants scurrying to scraps that had fallen to the earth. Ants, spiders, flies, and beetles seemed to thrive in this barren waste.

"At least they were not hornets," Andrew thought as started to wipe the pot and bowls with a cloth. There was a ritual he could have used to clean up. But the ants deserved to eat too.

In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a slight reflection. Quick then disappearing.