Bjorn warily parted the bushes with a gentle hand, lest he be seen. He cautiously examined the tiny clearing ahead of him -- empty. Damn!

He rose to his feet from behind the bushes, walking out into the clearing to better examine the homemade trap he had left there. This was the fourth trap he had found empty -- not so much as a baby hare for dinner. He knelt to examine the bait. The greens had been untouched, save for a caterpillar gnawing on one of the leaves.

Bjorn rose. He would leave the trap overnight. It was more likely that something would take the bait after nightfall -- although nothing had last night. Bjorn sighed. There were three other traps to be checked. Perhaps they had fared better.

He adjusted the bow on his shoulder as he walked. Game had seemed scarce today. Even with his Art, he had not felt the presence of a single deer nearby. Bjorn closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it sigh slowly out, frosting on the crisp autumn air.

Slowly, the scrub and tundra of the Wastes yielded its secrets to him. There was game here -- families of hares hiding deep in their burrows, not out foraging as they should. Overhead a hawk cried, it too complaining at the lack of small game.

It had been thus all day. The large game not to be found and the common, small game hiding in their lairs. Something was amiss....

Bjorn's mind finally touched something, though. Large, grazing -- seeking out grass and leaves with large, flat teeth -- snorting in anger as its head was pulled away from its prize by the heavy weight it bore on its back....

Bjorn's eyes snapped open. Horses! Horses with riders!

His traps forgotten, Bjorn ran back down the trail toward home. The only horses in Hunter's Glen were the four dray horses that Lief the lumberer used to haul timber. They were not broken to the saddle.

Bjorn was over two hours from home and he had sensed the riders almost halfway there. They would arrive long before he did.

Bandits, almost certainly, Bjorn thought. The nearest chieftain's hall was over two weeks travel away on horseback.

Bjorn summoned what Power he could and thought a warning homeward. Hopefully, his aged father would sense it. Bjorn slowed to a jog. Home was a long way off. It wouldn't do him any good to exhaust himself before he arrived.

* * *

Bjorn approached the small cabin cautiously. His heart pounded in his chest. With the Power, he could sense more than a score of men near his home. Thankfully, he could also sense his father's living presence.

Bjorn peered toward the front of the house from underneath a bush and his heart fell. Eight and ten men loitered around their horses in front of his home. All wore identical armor, carried identical weapons and bore the identical sign of a golden eagle painted on their shields. These men were not bandits.

Bjorn counted a score and one horses. Three men were inside -- with his father. He closed his eyes and reached out with his Art. His father was definitely alive -- even seemed calm, or at least calmer than Bjorn would have expected, given the situation.

He touched his father's mind, sending a wordless question. Calm reassurance reached him in reply. What was happening? Bjorn watched and waited.

Soon, the door opened and his father stepped out. Beside him was a young man, fair of face and with chestnut hair tied back into a horse's tail. He did not look to be much older than Bjorn, if at all. His build was slightly heavier than Bjorn's, with more bulk in the shoulders.

The young man was dressed much like the others, save for the quality of his armor. Where the soldiers were clad in leather reinforced with strips of bronze, this one wore a breastplate, bracers and greaves of gleaming bronze.

The shields of the soldiers were wooden, with bronze rims, but the young man's shield was fully plated in bronze. The rich leather underneath his armor and the violet mantle, emblazoned with the same eagle that the others carried on their shields, identified him as their chief.

These men were not from this area. No local chieftain held such wealth -- the land was just too poor. No, this must be a young clan chieftain from the warmer lands to the south. Why were they here? And what business did this alien chieftain have with Bjorn's father?

"Bjorn!" his father called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Bjorn, come here! We have guests!"

Apparently he was about to find out. If his father had instead said "visitors", that would have been Bjorn's signal to cut and run -- warn the other members of the Circle. As it was...

Bjorn gathered his feet under him and stood up from beneath the bush less than ten hands from one of the soldiers.

"Gods!" the soldier cried in alarm at Bjorn's sudden appearance so close to him. The soldier hastily backed away a step, gesturing with the sign of the hammer to ward himself. Bjorn glanced at the man -- there was no power in his ward.

"Yes, father?" Bjorn asked suspiciously.

"Come inside," his father replied. "It is all right."

"Yes, father," he replied. As he walked past, he could hear the soldiers muttering under their breath.

"Damned hedge wizards," said the one he'd startled. Well, obviously they at least suspected who Bjorn and Rolf were....

"...should burn the lot of 'em," agreed another. Typical.

"Prince 'as gone mad," another offered. Prince? Not a chieftain then, but a chieftain's son.

"What's going on, father?" Bjorn asked. "Why are the other two still inside?"

"How did you know that?" the chieftain's son interrupted. His voice was heavy with suspicion.

"I counted your horses, lord," Bjorn replied sarcastically.

"Oh," the young prince replied, glancing back towards his men. "I...see."

"Prince Gavin has come to us with an...interesting problem," Rolf told his son. "Please, join us inside."

Bjorn hesitated. Problem? What did they care about some southern clan's problems? The problem was that they were here and that Bjorn and his father had been discovered. Would the stake be much further behind?

Still, his father did not seem to be concerned. Bjorn crossed his threshold and glanced about the small main room.

Two older men waited inside, both more richly dressed than the soldiers. None wore the purple mantle with the golden eagle, however.

One, black haired and bearded, carried a silver wolf on a black field as his insignia. The other, red of hair and fair of skin, wore a burning sword on cloth of white. None of the blazons were local clan markings. Both men were large of build and their eyes held the look of seasoned warriors.

"What do these men want with us?" he asked his father.

"I shall let them tell you," Rolf replied. "Your highness...."

"I am Prince Gavin of Reykvid," Gavin said. "This is William, chief of the Gray Wolf clan and Ivanel, chief of the Fire Sword clan. We desperately require the services of a mage."

"There are no such people in this area," Bjorn interrupted. "My father and I are simple trappers...."

"They know who you and I are, Bjorn," Rolf interrupted. His phrasing told Bjorn that these men did not know the identities of the other members of the Circle.

"I...see," Bjorn replied, after a moment. He turned to the young prince. "Why should we help you, Gavin? What are the concerns of a southern clan, even three southern clans, to us? Do you seek to lure my father and I southward so that you can burn us publicly?"

"If that were my desire," Gavin replied, ignoring Bjorn's omission of his title, "you would both now be without your tongues and bound over two of our horses."

That was true enough. There was no way that Bjorn and his aged father could overcome a score of soldiers.

"We need your help," Gavin concluded.

"And we need our seclusion," Bjorn replied. "Your problems are of no concern to us."

"This problem concerns all men," Gavin replied. "Especially you and your father."

"How could...?" Bjorn began.

"Hear me out," Gavin interrupted. "Once I am finished, if you still feel that this is not your concern, I and my men shall depart without malice."

"Very well," Bjorn agreed, hoping that the prince was a man of his word. Once they had left, Bjorn and his father would have to move on -- find another place to live.

"My father is Magnus Urqhart," Gavin began, "king of Reykvid."

"Reykvid?" Bjorn asked. "I am not familiar with that clan...."

"Reykvid is no clan," Gavin explained. "Reykvid is a kingdom ruling many clans." The prince gestured toward the two men with him.

"Both the Gray Wolf clan and the Burning Sword clan have sworn allegiance to my father, as have others," he finished.

Bjorn glanced over at Rolf who nodded to him.

"I had heard of a great kingdom to the south," Bjorn began, "but I did not believe...."

"That kingdom is Reykvid," Gavin assured him.
"Magnus Urqhart is a man of honor and vision," William added. "Or at least...he was...."

"And you call him king?" Bjorn asked.

"Yes, I do," the black haired man replied, fervently.

"As do I," Ivanel agreed. "My clansmen have swelled the ranks of King Magnus' army on many campaigns. He is a great man."

"A conqueror," Bjorn replied with a trace of contempt in his voice.

"My father is no conqueror!" Gavin objected. "Most of the clans have joined him willingly. Of those that have not, Reykvid has never dealt the first blow."

"Not before now," the chief of the Gray Wolf clan corrected, softly.

"Yes," Gavin agreed, sadly. "Not before now."

"What do you mean?" Bjorn asked.

"Three months ago, my father was travelling to negotiate the annexation of the Raven clan," Gavin explained. "We made camp in some barren hills. That night our scouts found a small cave at the base of one of the hills..."

Bjorn listened as the prince recounted the events of that night. The guards had explored the cave and had discovered a sealed door -- apparently a burial vault of some kind.

Upon forcing the door the searchers found the perfectly preserved body of a man laid upon a stone bier. He was dark haired and beardless, wearing fine garments. The chamber was devoid of the normal treasures that such a man might have been buried with, however.

"And then," Gavin continued, "within moments of our entry, he awoke."

A chill passed across Bjorn's shoulders.

"Awoke?" he asked.

"Aye," William replied, quietly.

"We were frightened, to say the least," Gavin continued, "but a strange calm came over us. The man attempted to speak, but we could not understand his words. When he next spoke, it was in our own tongue."

"What...did he say?" Bjorn asked.

"He told us that he had been travelling and had found the tomb empty two days before," chief Ivanel replied. "He claimed that the tomb had sealed itself and that he had been trapped inside. He had thought his fate sealed until we opened the tomb."

"A...reasonable explanation," Bjorn observed.

"We found no evidence of occupation for those two days," Gavin countered. "Surely he would have found it necessary to...relieve himself during that time."

Bjorn nodded. That was true -- if a man spent two days locked in a room, he would certainly leave something behind.

"Not only that," William said angrily. "The man has bespelled the king!"

"How so?" Bjorn asked. He doubted that Chief William would know an enchantment from a lullaby. Even so, Bjorn found himself becoming interested.

"By morning," Gavin explained, "Valerian had won his way onto my father's council. By the time we had returned to Reykvid, Valerian had become my father's most trusted advisor."

Bjorn said nothing. The chill returned to the back of his neck and, this time, did not depart. He looked toward his father, who simply nodded at him.

"We believe," Gavin concluded, echoing Bjorn's own thoughts, "that we awoke a MageLord."

* * *

"Could it truly be a MageLord?" Bjorn asked his father. Outside, Gavin and his men made camp in the tiny clearing occupied by their cabin. Bjorn closed the shutter and turned back to his father.

"I can think of no other explanation," Rolf replied, easing himself down onto their only padded chair. "I pray you can find another."

Bjorn nodded. Gavin and his kind would never believe it, but Bjorn's people had always opposed the MageLords. Over a thousand years ago, it was the common mages, such as themselves, who had enabled humanity to survive the Time of Madness. Now, they were repaid with fear, hatred and the fire...

"Bjorn?" Rolf asked, interrupting the young mage's thoughts.

"Yes, father?" Bjorn answered, pulling himself from his reverie.

"Why did you return here?"

"I...I feared for your life," Bjorn replied, bowing his head in shame.

"You should not have returned!" Rolf told him sternly. "Your first duty was to warn the Circle. You know this!"

"Yes, father," Bjorn agreed.

"Regardless, we will both be barred from the Circle," Rolf added. "Once you have left with Prince Gavin, I shall tell them of what has happened here. When you return, we shall move on."

Bjorn nodded. Now that they were known, Rolf and Bjorn could not risk exposing the rest of the Circle. They would be barred and would then have to move on -- to disappear into another remote corner of the Wastes and try to rebuild their lives.

He thought of Helga, and Freida, and tears came to his eyes. Freida had practically been his mother since his own had died in childbirth. Now he would have to leave and never see her, or her family, again. And Helga, his betrothed -- would she abandon him as well?

"Bjorn," Rolf said, more gently. "What's done is done. We will find another Circle -- new friends to replace those we must leave behind. And, perhaps, some of our old friends will choose to travel with us."

Bjorn nodded, blinking back the tears that had not quite fallen. Rolf rose from his chair with some difficulty and walked over to put his hands on Bjorn's shoulders.

"Perhaps," Bjorn said in a thick voice.

"I will be here when you return," Rolf said. "Come, it is time for you to sleep. Your journey will begin early tomorrow."

"Yes, father," Bjorn agreed.

* * *

Sleep did not come easily for Prince Gavin. They had spent three weeks travelling the Wastes in search of a practitioner of the Forbidden Arts to help them. When they had finally managed to uncover one, they had found only a decrepit old man and his son.

What could either of these two hope to accomplish against someone of Valerian's power? Against a MageLord?

On the one hand, Gavin felt they should continue searching until they found someone of greater power. On the other hand, he suspected that such a person did not exist. It had taken three sevennights just to find these two. He could search the Wastes for another year and not find any better.

No, time was short. Gavin would have to return with what he had managed to find. Bjorn Rolfson would have to suffice.

* * *

Sleep eluded Bjorn as well. Could Gavin be trusted? Or would more of his men circle back and burn Rolf and the cabin to ashes after Bjorn had left with him on the morrow? What awaited Bjorn in Reykvid? The stake? Or a MageLord?

Bjorn would almost rather face the stake. The MageLords had been nothing short of gods and had persecuted Bjorn's people as fervently as any did today.

Actually, that was not quite true. According to legend, the MageLords had not actively hunted the common mages down. It was more like what Gavin would do if he happened across a roach in their home. Step on it and go about his way.

And Bjorn was that roach, boldly going forth to stick his tongue out at the man who could crush him. Nevertheless, he had to go. If a MageLord did indeed walk the earth, it was vital that they know for certain.