"I doubt anyone plans it." Driel was a dark shadow, lined in the golden sunlight that spilled into the cabin.

Locke managed to breathe normally at last. His voice still rasped in his throat. "Sorry. You were trying to help..." He squinted, examining the sunlight as though it held some answer. <Must be late afternoon. Or early morning... how long have I been asleep?>

"Only you could choke on a healing potion."

There was a strange tenseness beneath Driel's bantering, he realized. "Driel, are you... did something go wrong, in Nikeah?"

She sighed. "If it's that obvious..." She shook her head wearily. "Nikeah is occupied."

He sat upright and immediately regretted the action, as the small cabin seemed to spin around him. Gritting his teeth, he gasped, "Figaro?"

"Be careful, you're not strong enough yet to..." The healer didn't finish the thought. "No, not Figaro. A new Empire."

"What? That's impossible. Gestahl is dead, Kefka is dead..."

"It gets worse. They have Magitek."

"Magitek? But... how?"

"They must have some source of magic. It's not like anything I've ever felt... maybe you could tell, though? We have a suit on board."

"We do? How did you manage that?"

"We didn't. Cal did. You'll have to meet him... he was once an Imperial soldier."

Locke sighed. "I missed too much while I was sick. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Aside from Cal, we have one more passenger. A merchant named Syn Unne. And the leaders of the new Empire... but I think I'll let Alcan tell you that. We should really talk to the others, as soon as you feel up to it."

"I guess I can manage. We don't have time to sit and rest..."

Driel turned to walk bac out onto the deck.

Locke slowly stood and staggered after her. Pausing in the doorway momentarily, he retrieved Graedus from the cabin floor and sheathed it. <Must've dropped this... I've got to be more careful. I already lost Valiant...> He staggered out, trying not to notice the rocking motion of the boat. <If I live through this, I'm going to get an airship.>

* * * * *

The door closed behind Locke, plunging the tiny space into darkness. It remained empty for only a moment. Then a figure stepped forward, out of the corner. From a distance, it might have been taken for a human. Its body was masked by the obsidian armor it wore, and most of its face was hidded by a helmet. But the eyes that stared out from beneath the visor were not human. They were deep, threatening violet, and they were the only feature that broke the otherwise uniform blackness about the humanoid.

Kharazz, Fiend of Shadow, rested one hand on the hilt of his black blade, considering the human he had been watching. Why was the Master so interested in this one? Even with the dagger of Light, he would hardly pose a threat to Kharazz. Perhaps he should destroy the human now?

No. That would bring the Master's attention, and he wasn't ready to handle that. Not yet. He had to choose the time to strike. First take care of the threat. Then he could slaughter this human and any other he wished, without fear.

He stepped back into the deepest shadow, wrapped his cloak of darkness around him, and *travelled* -- and the cabin was empty once again.

* * * * *

"Cal Brody." The man who spoke was not as old as Locke had imagined, and he had a rough but friendly-sounding voice. He found himself liking the ex-soldier. <Cal seems familiar, though.>

"When you were in Gestahl's army... were you stationed in South Figaro?"

"No." Cal's eyes took on a soft, sorrowful look. "I was at Doma."

<So he's not the young guard who...> Locke remembered the youth's cheerful smile as Locke, in the uniform of an Imperial officer, relieved him of duty for the day. <I hope he didn't get in trouble for that, after Celes and I escaped.>

The older man, Syn, was also looking at Cal now. "So... you were with Kefka."

Cal nodded. "It was General Leo at first, but Gestahl called him back to Vector, and put that madman in charge. Or maybe he put himself in charge. And... well, everyone knows what happened then."

Locke guessed from the look on Alcan's face that one of them, at least, didn't. "He poisoned the water."

Cal seemed to overlook Alcan's shocked reaction. "All of our men who were prisoners in the castle died. So did most of the Domans. I hear the land around the castle is still barren today. You can tell, even with most of the land ruined. It's the only place south of Narshe here nothing grows."

An awkward silence followed the explanation. Driel was the first to break it. "If we're finished with introductions, we should decide what to do next."

Alcan nodded, but it was Locke who spoke. "We were hoping to find Lola. Did you find anything that might help?"

Driel shook her head. "I can... feel her, somewhere north of here. But we still don't know where."

The taciturn Syn interrupted. "We might have other things to worry about. No offense," he swiftly added, "I know you want to find your friend. But this so-called Empire might be more dangerous."

Locke nodded. "You mentioned their leaders before, but you didn't tell me who they were," he addressed Driel. She glanced at Alcan, who nodded again and replied.

"As far as anyone knows, there are two, plus a few generals. The two leaders style themselves 'Lady Sascha' and 'Lord Akfek'."

<Sascha?> An image of the red-haired child he'd known in Kohlingen came to his mind. <No. That's impossible. And Akfek...> "Akfek... that's..."

"Kefka spelled backwards," chorused Driel, Alcan, and Cal. Syn muttered something under his breath.

"Is that his real name?"

Alcan responded again. "I doubt it. He must have chosen that for the effect. Either way, he seems at least as capable as your Kefka, judging from what we saw in Nikeah."

"What do you mean? Just how big is this 'New Empire'?"

This time, it was Cal who explained. "Before I was discovered, I was able to learn a little. If what the soldiers say is true, they hold several cities. Zozo, Doma, Nikeah, and Kohlingen. Maybe one or two more, by now. They have Magitek, and that means they have magic. I don't know if even Jidoor could stand against them, even with the Figaran troops."

But Locke was no longer listening. <Kohlingen.> His home. The last time he'd been there, it had been thriving, at least by the new definitions of the world of healing. <Of course it would be a target.>

He felt Driel's hand on the back of his, offering comfort, and suddenly remembered that he'd met her there. <She must have lived there too...> He wondered whether either of them had any friends left in the area. <Did the Empire kill them all? Merine...>

Swallowing, he tried to pay attention.

"...could attack them," Alcan was saying. "They wouldn't expect it."

"We have five people and one suit of Magitek Armor. Be reasonable," Syn pleaded.

"We don't have much choice. They'll have more soldiers later than now. We can't afford to wait."

Cal agreed. "Did you see the townspeople? The Nikeans love the Empire. It doesn't matter tat they didn't need 'liberation'. There's something strange behind that."

"It sounds like a Slave Crown," Locke said. "But there aren't enough for an entire town. There are probably only a dozen or so in existence."

"The Empire - the real Empire - only used them on agents who were both very powerful and too independent for Gestahl's tastes," Cal confirmed.

"We're getting nowhere. What _could_ we try to do?" If nothing else, Locke noted, Syn Unne was a very practical man.

"We could keep following Lola," suggested Driel.

"We could try to free Kohlingen. Or one of the other towns," Locke added.

"We could try to find the Warriors of Balance. If they could kill Kefka..." Cal left the thought unfinished.

"Not a bad idea, but I've been looking for the others for weeks. Nobody seems to know where they are, and even the two I met got scattered after Jidoor," Locke remarked.

Cal paused. "You?"

Locke rolled his eyes. "I don't think that many people know, but I helped a little," he admitted. "And that doesn't help us much."

"Any more suggestions?" Syn drawled.

They looked at each other in silence.

"One," Alcan finally added. "We could ignore Lola and the new Empire for now, and try to face Figaro, like we'd planned before Lola was kidnapped."

More silence. Alcan sighed. "I don't like that idea either, but it is another option."

"Fine," said Syn. "Now that we know what we could do, we just have to decide what we _will_ do." For all the man's gruffness, Locke noticed that he included himself in the statement.

"If we follow Lola, we should go to Narshe for supplies," Driel suggested.

Cal nodded. "If we're after the Empire, I think Kohlingen or Zozo would be the best targets."

"If we're looking for your friends," Alcan nodded towards Locke, "we might check a busy port. That means Albrook, or Jidoor again." Alcan's geography seemed to be improving.

"Or," Locke finished, "South Figaro. If we're after Edgar."

"So. What should we do?" Syn asked.

Nobody answered.

The question hung in the sea air for a long moment. Finally, Alcan spoke up.

"I don't think we should get sidetracked from looking for Lola. She could be in great danger. We can't leave her in the hands of that Rhiannon." He turned to Driel. "Do you still think she's in Narshe, or close by?"

"Yes... although I can't explain why. Just a feeling I have."

"Then I say we continue north."

Driel opened her mouth to agree, then glanced over at Locke. The young treasure hunter looked back at his companions, seeing the determination in Alcan's eyes and the worry in Driel's. Though the news of his home under Imperial occupation once again tugged at his heart, he knew that going after Lola first was the right thing to do. He couldn't abandon the quest, or his friends. Locke smiled and nodded.

"You're right. Lola comes first."

If there was anyone in the group more relieved by Locke's words than Driel, it was Syn. "Now you're talking sense. Taking on an army by ourselves... the very idea..."

All eyes turned to the last member of the circle. Cal had been fairly quiet, almost withdrawn, after explaining how he came to be aboard; now, everyone was waiting for his opinion. He swallowed.

"I... I'll go along with whatever you decide. I'm really just a passenger here. If you have a friend in trouble, I agree that we should go to her aid."

"You're not *just* a passenger," Alcan reminded him. "You and that machine of yours helped us get out of Nikeah."

Cal smiled and nodded, glancing over at where the stolen Armor crouched, lashed securely to the deck. "Yes, but it was my own hide I was saving too. This ship was my best hope of escape; I took a chance."

"Well, you're part of this crew now... if you want to be," Driel said. "I can tell that you know your way around a ship, and we could use more hands."

"And swords, too," added Alcan.

Cal took a deep breath. "I'll have to think about that."

"Are we all agreed on Narshe as our next stop, then?" asked Locke. There were no objections.

* - * - *

Cal stood on the Waverider's bow, looking out over the ocean. The slate blue sea foamed white as the ship cut through it, sailing north. It was late afternoon, with the sun hanging low on the western horizon; Driel was at the wheel, with Alcan tending the rigging, and Syn was back in the galley making dinner with Locke's help. The younger man had expressed a weak hope of keeping his first solid meal in days down.

Nikeah, the only home he had known for the past year and more, was far astern now. He was adrift, alone on a ship with strangers and half-strangers. Master Unne, the weapons seller from up the street, Cal knew but not well; the old man seemed friendly, if something of a recluse. The Imperial invasion had put them both in the same boat, literally. Driel, the lovely young captain, also had the look of someone who had suffered a great loss recently. Then there was Alcan, who (if his story was to be believed) was a prince from another dimension; next to that, Locke's claim of being a Warrior of Balance was almost plausible.

<You should have pressed harder,> scolded Cal's inner voice. <You, more than anyone aboard, know what the Empire's capable of. They won't stop until they rule everything. Even the end of the world only slowed them down. Now there's a new madman at the controls and they're on the march again.>

<And what was I supposed to say?> he asked himself, nettled. <"Too bad about your friend, but I really think we should forget her and go after the Empire"? Right.> Cal snorted, turning his back to the sea and leaning against the rail. <Besides, Syn's right. There's no way we can match the kind of force I saw at Nikeah, even without the people on their side.>

<Maybe the Returners could help. Locke said he was one of the Warriors of Balance; he may have some pull with them...>

<Yeah, like he's going to trust me, a former Imperial soldier. He's probably wondering why I didn't join up myself.> Unbidden, the scene passed before Cal's eyes again: the girl running to her mother, the bright flash... then nothing, nothing at all. He clenched his jaw and fought back the tears; no sense adding more salt water to the ocean.

<I thought I was done with war. I thought I could hide from it. But there's no place to hide anymore.> Cal sighed, contemplating the horizon. For months after the cataclysm, the dust and ash thrown into the air had made spectacular sunsets; now, at last, the sky was blue again. <This poor shattered world never got a decent chance to heal. Land and sea change their shapes, people change sides, but the war goes on... and nothing is safe.>

The Waverider sailed on, towards Narshe and the future.

Cal was leaning against the railing. Syn studied him a moment. He looked to be thinking deeply. 'Still can't believe that he's an Imperial soldier.' The merchant had seen Cal a few times in Nikeah, even exchanged greetings now and then. 'Was an Imperial soldier,' Syn corrected himself.

The bulky form of the Magitek Armor loomed in back of the Nikean man. With his night vision he could make out the technology worked into every small aspect of it. 'How can the Empire be defeated with weapons like that?'

He thought of Alcan's story. It might likely be fiction. With Syn's experience, he had been forced to question anything. Years of fighting had made him learn only to rely on himself.

The distant form of mountains grew in the horizon. The four would travel to Narshe to find the girl Driel's friend. 'Loa? Lola? Wasn't that her name?'

"Ahhh, Narshe." Cal glanced at the merchant at the sound of his voice. Syn smiled wryly, and the ex-soldier returned his gaze. 'The home of my family.' How he missed his parents, his brother, and his sister. After he had left, Syn had never heard from them. 'They might have been killed when the world was ripped apart.

The merchant closed his eyes, and memories of his missed family were remembered.

-----

Driel touched Syn on the shoulder. "We'll be there in less than an hour." Cal came out of his trance and went to the front of the boat.

Syn watched him go, then turned back to Driel. "Great." He didn't know what it would be like, seeing his birthplace.

"Where's Locke?"

The short man pointed towards the sound of silverware clinking. "Still eatin'. How long was he out, anyway?"

"Quite a while." Alcan went in to talk to the treasure hunter. The ocean waved lightly dampened Syn's face.

"Home, to Narshe."

"There must," he thought out loud, "be a better way to cross the ocean."

An airship would be ideal, of course, but they were both expensive and difficult to build. Not to mention the minor detail that poorly constructed ones were known for literally falling apart in midair. No, an airship was far in the future. Maybe he could find a relic of the old Imperial Air Force... maybe.

He decided not to press his luck by remaining on deck, and turned to descend into the quarters below.

* * * * *

He sat bolt upright, throwing a blanket off as he scanned the room. Night; it was next to impossible to see, below the deck. But nothing moved.

<Just a dream.>

He tried to recall the details, but the fragments slipped away from his waking mind. Locke was left with only the sense that something was not right.

He shook his head and lay back onto his cot. <How much longer until we reach Narshe?>

* * * * *

The sea had been unusually serene for the duration of the journey--strange, considering the season. Not that Locke was complaining. Not after his last three or four trips.

"There must," he thought out loud, "be a better way to cross the ocean."

An airship would be ideal, of course, but they were both expensive and difficult to build. Not to mention the minor detail that there were only two or three people in the world capable of designing one. No, an airship was far in the future. Maybe he could find a breathing device, like the one Gau had used... maybe.

He decided not to press his luck by remaining on deck, and turned to descend into the quarters below.

* * * * *

He sat bolt upright, throwing a blanket off as he scanned the room. Night; it was next to impossible to see, below the deck. But nothing moved.

<Just a dream.>

He tried to recall the details, but the fragments slipped away from his waking mind. Locke was left with only the sense that something was not right.

He shook his head and lay back onto his cot. <How much longer until we reach Narshe?>

* * * * *

The sea had been unnaturally calm for the duration of the voyage--surprising, considering the time of year. Not that Locke was complaining. Not after his last three or four trips.

"There must," he thought out loud, "be a better way to cross the ocean."

His train of thought was interrupted as he noticed a line of clouds against the horizon. There was a storm ahead. He turned, ready to warn Driel or Alcan, but paused. Surely they'd seen the storm before he had. They were in a better position to do so. Besides, he really shouldn't bother them now.

And the storm wasn't approaching. It might end before the Waverider reached it. Northern weather was always unpredictable that way.

He decided not to press his luck by remaining on deck, and turned to descend into the quarters below.

* * * * *

He sat bolt upright, throwing a blanket off as he scanned the room. Night; it was next to impossible to see, below the deck. But nothing moved.

<Just a dream.>

He tried to recall the details, but the fragments slipped away from his waking mind. Locke was left with only the sense that something was not right.

He shook his head and lay back onto his cot. <How much longer until we reach Narshe?>

* * * * *

The sea had been unnaturally calm for the duration of the voyage--surprising, considering the time of year. Not that Locke was complaining. Not after his last three or four trips.

Unfortunately, that was about to change.

The storm hadn't ended; if anything, it had gotten worse. He, Driel, Alcan, Syn, and Cal had talked about their options late last night. Turning back was impossible, they agreed; not only would it not help Lola, but it would have cost them too much time, and time was in short supply at the moment.

So it had come to two options: To sail on into the fierce snowstorm, braving cold and, worse, ice; or to anchor the Waverider here, further from Narshe than they might have wished. The first would be faster. IF they didn't damage the ship. <Or sink it,> he added to himself. Locke had little faith in ships.

The second would be slower, and require them to walk through the storm. The ship would be safe. <But if we got lost...>

Or they could wait for the storm to pass. But Locke knew that the winter storms of Narshe could last for weeks, even for months, at full strength. Waiting would cost them time... and they might not have supplies enough to outlast the storm.

He sighed to himself as he turned to descend. There must be another option, but he didn't see it.

* * * * *

Cal. Cal had been the one who asked about Narshe, whether its people had reclaimed it or the monsters still walked the streets with impunity. Locke had heard in Jidoor that people were planning to move back, that the scattered Narshe Guard was regrouping to rid the town of monsters. Had they succeeded?

"It doesn't matter. There's at least one person who refused to give up his home. I'm sure he'd let us stay the night, if we need to. It's safe enough."

"Who'd choose to stay in an evil-infested city?" Syn asked.

Locke shrugged. "He's probably fairly safe. He used to own the weapon shop. Maybe he knows how to use his goods."

Alcan had started, then... or was that just his imagination? He didn't remember. The conversation had turned to other things...

* * * * *

He sat bolt upright, throwing a blanket off as he scanned the room. Night; it was next to impossible to see, below the deck. But nothing moved.

<Just a dream.>

He tried to recall the details, but the fragments slipped away from his waking mind. Locke was left with only the sense that something was not right.

Then he remembered--tomorrow morning, they would finally decide how to proceed to Narshe.

Uneasily, he lay back on his cot, too tired to sleep. <It seems like we've been on this ship forever.>

"Yes, I do," Alcan told him. "I don't think we should try getting there by land - it's not worth the risk of getting caught in a blizzard. Besides, we can't exactly camp out in the middle of a snowstorm with what materials we have." Nods around the group, some hesitant. "And unless this storm clears up within the next week, we'll run out of supplies before we get to Narshe."

"Well," Locke suggested, "we could always eat light..."

"So you'll waste less when you get seasick?" Driel finished for him, and everyone chuckled, for they knew that Locke would probably eat lightly for that very reason.

"He's right, though," Cal said a moment later. "If we cut down to two fairly light meals a day, we could wait two, three weeks before we'd have to turn back." In reply to the surprised glances he received, he merely shrugged. "In the Imperial army, we only had two meals a day, and we weren't any the worse for it. The food, of course..." Cal grimaced. "But that's another story." Chuckles again filled the small room.

Then Driel spoke up. "He's right - we can last a while with what we have. And I'd really rather avoid taking the Waverider through a storm like this. I don't want to chance the possibility of running into ice, not with winds like these blowing us around."

Alcan blinked. "Ice?" he echoed. "At this time of year?"

"Narshe has three seasons: winter, spring, and summer," Syn explained. "The last two are about two months long each."

"I think we should wait here, as well," Cal interjected. "It is fairly early in the cold season, so the storm isn't likely to last too long. It's not worth risking the ship to gain those extra few days." Syn nodded in agreement.

"So... are we decided, then?" Driel asked, looking at Alcan.

/They have good points,/ Alcan thought, /but.../ He cut himself off sternly. /No "but". A king or a prince, should stick by his decisions, but here you are neither - you are merely a member of a group./ Out loud, he said, "Alright, I can agree to that. Provided," and he raised a finger, "that I'm not the only one getting the snow off the ship." He pointed out the window, where it had indeed started snowing heavily again.

The others looked out the window as well, groaning at the change of weather. All five of them got up then, left the cabin, and got to work clearing the ship's deck of snow as it fell.

* - * - *

Supper that evening was quiet, as it generally had been; the weather did not encourage conversation. But tonight, Alcan merely stared at his plate; he did not even feel like eating. Not that the food was unpalatable; while a sandwich, a few slices of apple, and a cup of water were not exactly a feast, they at least made a decent meal. Maybe the weather was making him depressed, Alcan thought. Maybe that was it. Maybe.

"Are you alright, Alcan?" Driel asked then, noticing his lack of appetite.

"Oh... yeah, I'm fine," Alcan replied, just as he felt the twinges of an oncoming headache. "Not hungry, that's all." /Maybe it *is* the weather./

"Okay..." Driel said, sounding unconvinced, though she did go back to eating.

Alcan's headache was quickly developing into a more than minor nuisance, however. After a few minutes, he asked, "Umm, actually... does anyone mind if I leave and go lie down? I'm getting a nasty headache..." Alcan put his hand to his forehead; the headache was getting worse by the second.

Driel rose immediately and hurried to his side. "How'd this come about?" she asked, worried.

"Don't know... it just sort of happened," Alcan replied, trying to stifle a groan of pain. "I'll be all right later, after I've had some rest," he assured Driel. "This kind of thing has happened before. You can go... finish your supper." He turned toward the galley door, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as the pain in his head increased still. He sensed Driel's hesitation, though, and turned back. "Really. I'll sleep for a few hours... and the headache will be gone." Still Driel hesitated, but Alcan headed towards the galley's exit. Behind him, Driel shrugged uncomfortably and returned to her seat at the table.

Alcan headed straight for the crew cabin, where some makeshift cots had been set up. He still could not figure out where the headache had come from; he could not recall ever having had one come on that quickly. Unless... perhaps he had overstrained himself magically. Yes, he had been told in Selendia of the dangers of trying to exceed one's limits. Sudden headaches and fainting were symptoms that one had overstrained oneself. Those were followed by confusion, dizziness... and burnout. Total loss of magical ability. /I can't let that happen,/ Alcan said to himself. Then, as the pain of the headache pushed itself to the fore in his mind, he entered the crew cabin and lay down on the nearest cot. A minute later, he was asleep.

Some time later, he woke again. To his relief, the pain in his head had completely disappeared. He sat up slowly and stretched, noting the lack of light which indicated that it was night. He must have slept for a few hours, then.

"Oh, good, you're awake," a voice said from nearby. Startled, Alcan looked quickly around to identify the speaker, even as he recognized the voice as Locke's.

"We were worried about you," another voice added - Driel's.

Alcan was able to make out two shapes in the faint light: Locke and Driel, sitting on the cot next to his. Illogically, he was faintly annoyed at that, but he quickly brushed the feeling aside. "Don't worry, I'm fine," he reassured them. "Sleep always helps get rid of a headache, at least in my experience."

"That's not why we were worried," Driel told him. "About half an hour ago, we were walking by the door when I heard something from inside. We came in, and you were saying something about having `finally figured it out,' and knowing where some thing or some person was, or something like that... a person, I think..." She glanced at Locke, but he shrugged, unable to add any more detail. "Then you fell silent again. You were asleep the whole time."

"Odd..." Alcan said. "I wonder what..." He trailed off, trying to determine what he might have "figured out" in his sleep. Something, or someone, and a location...

Suddenly, something connected in Alcan's mind. Quickly, he asked Locke and Driel, "Do you remember anything else I said? Anything at all?"

Driel shook her head, but Locke said, "I think I heard a name of some sort, just as we were entering... a place name, I think..."

"What place?" Alcan asked, startling both Locke and Driel with the intensity of his voice.

Locke thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't hear it clearly enough."

"Damn," Alcan muttered, slamming a fist against the side of the cot. Now he would have to hope that he could consciously reconstruct whatever reasoning his unconscious mind had used to arrive at its discovery. If only Locke and Driel had come in a little sooner... Oh well. Wishful thinking wouldn't help him. To Locke and Driel, he said, "Well, I'll be able to figure it out eventually," and shrugged.

"You're sure you're all right?" Driel asked.

"Sure I'm sure," Alcan replied. He got up, took two steps, and promptly stubbed his toe on one of the cot's legs. "Now what idiot forgot to bring a light with us?"

* - * - *

The storm raged on for a while, keeping the five below deck most of the time, out of the harsh winds. They occupied their time primarily with conversation, as there was little else to do aboard the ship.

Finally, though, the storm began to abate, and the Waverider set sail once again for Narshe. There were indeed a few small chunks of ice floating in the water, but Driel was easily able to navigate around them. Late the next day, they reached the port that had been constructed south of Narshe. It was quickly decided that they should spend the night on board to avoid having to do so on the way to Narshe, since the fields were now covered with snow. It might be only a thin layer, barely worth the term "cover", but that didn't make it any warmer.

Discussion that night centered around their plans for what to do when they reached Narshe. While it was clear that they would depend mostly on Driel's mental link with Lola, they unanimously decided to stop by one of the shops first and get some heavy jackets to keep the cold out, and then to stop at the Inn and reserve a room if possible, since it would be late by the time they arrived.

The following morning, they arose early. eager now that their search seemed to be nearly at an end. They disembarked from the ship, and began the day-long journey on foot to Narshe.

Not long afterward - maybe an hour - Driel suddenly stopped, and cried out, "Lola! NO!"

"What is it?" Locke asked, whirling to face her with concern. The others also stopped to see what the matter was.

"It's Lola... I can't feel her anymore!" Driel said, a note of alarm in her voice. "Something's happened to her! Oh, Lola..."

"Sounds like we'd better hurry to Narshe then," Alcan suggested. Driel nodded after a moment, and the five picked up their pace, wondering what awaited them in the town.