A warm autumn breeze ruffled Elffled's hair as she walked across the well-worn path to the farmyard, her feet kicking up little clouds of dust. Beside her, Rufina was chattering about the assignment that day in herbalism – making a salve for stings out of plantain, lavender, and other medicinal herbs – but Elffled was not really paying attention. For the past seven weeks, she had been confined to the school and its courtyard, with only an occasional visit to the manor garden as a special privilege. Although she far preferred the comfortable environment of the school to the rigors of the trail, still she often felt just as much a prisoner as she had when she was forced to march in chains. She relished this brief moment of freedom beyond the walls of the school, for she knew that soon she would have to return.

When Rufina invited Elffled to accompany her on errands for the school healer, Elffled had eagerly accepted, for she knew it would give her the chance to explore parts of the villa with which she was not familiar. Shortly after the new students had been brought to the school, they were given a brief tour of the villa. That seemed so long ago now, and Elffled could remember little about all of the places she had seen.

As she followed Rufina into the enclosed farmyard, Elffled looked around at her surroundings, taking in the vaguely familiar sights. This was where the stable was located, and she hoped for a glimpse of one of the magnificent horses which were owned by Esarhaddon and his family. Unfortunately, she saw none; the horses were most likely either inside the stable or grazing in a nearby pasture. Disappointed, she turned her attention to the other structures in the farmyard. A group of small children laughed and squealed as they played a game of tag in front of the laborers' quarters, and a man pushed a wheelbarrow heaped high with manure out of the barn. A group of chickens noisily scrambled past Elffled and Rufina, cackling in offense at the unwanted interlopers. Elffled smiled to herself; it had been so long since she had been around farm animals. While the school did have several resident cats and a few tame birds, poultry and livestock were strictly forbidden on the grounds.

Elffled followed Rufina to the overseer's cottage, a modest building of whitewashed mudbrick. As Rufina knocked upon the door, Elffled stood at a respectful distance beneath the covered porch that had been built along the front of the cottage. Soon the overseer's wife came to the door, a grateful smile lighting up her face when she saw Rufina with the mint tea.

"Mistress Me'arya's teas are a great boon for one in my condition," the woman remarked, tenderly caressing her rounded stomach.

With their errand now complete, Rufina and Elffled bade farewell to the overseer's wife and began to make their way back to the school. At that moment, a rider rode into the farmyard – Abaru, who had just returned from Shakh Sandana's estate. He waved to them as he proceeded to the stables, and then returned on foot to hail them down.

"Greetings, Rufina and Fleda!" He smiled at them, acknowledging their respectful bows with a gracious nod of his head. "What errand takes you away from the school this afternoon?"

"Mistress Me'arya sent us to the overseer's wife to deliver some herbal tea," Rufina informed him, gesturing back towards the cottage.

Abaru's brow furrowed in concern. "Is she ill?"

"Her stomach is troubled, but that is to be expected, given her condition." Rufina smiled softly at Abaru's worry for the members of his father's household. The master's son was a thoughtful, considerate boy, well liked by the servants and the students at the school.

Abaru nodded in understanding, and then a thoughtful expression came over his face. "Rufina, you spend a lot of time with Mistress Me'arya in the infirmary… Has she mentioned how my father fares?"

"Master, forgive me for speaking so plainly, but your father is a stubborn one, and tries to hide the severity of his condition." Rufina shook her head apologetically. "From what I understand, he has begun to show some improvement, but his recovery is very slow."

Abaru sighed. "I feared as much. Well, at least he is not getting worse." He shrugged his shoulders in helpless frustration. "I would have remained at the villa, but Father insisted that I return to Shakh Sandana's estate and continue my studies."

"Your education is very important, Master." Rufina offered the boy a gentle smile of consolation. "One day you will inherit your father's business and all his holdings, so it is crucial that you learn everything there is to know about these matters."

"Master, how long will you be staying at the villa?" Elffled inquired. Despite all the etiquette classes she had taken at the school, she was still not quite certain how she should behave around Abaru. He was the same age as her little brother had been, so she was his senior. However, he outranked her socially, for he was the son of a powerful merchant, and she was a slave.

"As long as my father permits me, which is probably only a day or two," Abaru muttered, sullenly kicking a rock out of the path before him.

"Kabtu will be overjoyed to see you," Elffled remarked, attempting to raise the boy's spirits. "I know that his father's sudden illness must be difficult for him to understand. Perhaps that is why the little fellow has taken to visiting the school more often these past few days."

"Kabtu has a penchant for sneaking around and getting into mischief." Abaru rolled his eyes at his little brother's antics. "He runs his poor nurse Unna ragged with his shenanigans."

"Kabtu is definitely a handful." Elffled smiled good-naturedly. "Why, just the other day, he gave me quite the scare."

Abaru raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What did he do this time?"

Elffled could not help but smile at Abaru's chagrin. She hoped that her own account of Kabtu's mischief would amuse him just as much, and provide a brief distraction from his worries. "I had misplaced an embroidery project I was working on, and so after school was over for the day, I went back to all the classrooms I had visited to search for it. When I came to the weaving workshop, I had the strangest sense I was not alone, but I ignored the feeling, for I did not see anyone in the room. I was about to leave when suddenly Kabtu leapt out from behind a floor-length loom, where a nearly finished length of cloth hung from the beam. He gave me such a fright that I could not help but scream. This caused Kabtu to scream as well, and when he had recovered his wits, he began to laugh uproariously."

"I see my little brother's reign of terror shows no signs of stopping," Abaru laughed, shaking his head in mock dismay.

Both Elffled and Rufina giggled, and Abaru beamed with delight.

"Say, are you two returning to the school, or do you have other errands to run?" When Elffled and Rufina explained that their task was complete, Abaru nodded in understanding. "I am sorry to have kept you so long. Since I am headed towards the manor, I will walk with you until our paths diverge."

As Abaru strolled alongside them, Elffled and Rufina told him of the latest happenings at the villa, giving him a report upon what they were learning in their classes, how the instructors were doing, and any gossip from the manor which had trickled down to the school. When they were finished, he told them about his apprenticeship with Shakh Sandana, and how his days were faring with the elderly vintner and his wife. It was obvious that Abaru had a great deal of respect for his mentor. He admired the old man's vast knowledge and gentle wisdom and enjoyed working for him, even though his apprenticeship took him away from home and family. Abaru did not care much for Sandana's wife, however, considering Lady Zorvani overly strict and demanding.

When they came to a fork in the path, Abaru bade Elffled and Rufina a good evening. As Elffled watched him make his way towards the manor house, she imagined her own brother strolling down one of the dusty paths of the Eastfold. Perhaps it was silly to imagine a similarity between the two boys; after all, they came from two very different cultures and backgrounds. Eadfrid was the son of a peasant farmer from Rohan, while Abaru was the son of a merchant lord who hailed from Harad but now dwelt in Nurn. Their personalities and temperaments were far different as well. Abaru was more mature and serious than Eadfrid, who had been a lover of mischief and shenanigans – much like an older version of Kabtu. However, as the son of a merchant, Abaru had far more responsibilities and expectations placed upon him than a simple farm boy, so he would have had to put aside the whimsy of childhood and grow up much faster. Elffled wondered if she wanted to see something of her brother in Abaru because of their similarity in age, or because she grieved for Eadfrid.

Elffled's heart ached with sympathy when she considered the agonizing uncertainty and dread that both Abaru and Kabtu had been suffering for the past week. She had been fortunate that none of her close kin had ever been afflicted by an extended illness, but she knew from speaking with others that it was a terrible hardship to endure. While she had little love for Esarhaddon, she hoped that he would soon recover, for the sake of his sons.

When exiled from one's kin due to calamitous circumstances, it becomes easy to slip into a peculiar sort of complacency. To imagine that they are still with you, out of sight but not out of mind. To pretend for a moment that everything is as it should be, and all is well with the world.

The truth still lingers, though, like the silent spectre of creeping death waiting at the bed of the sick.

For Goldwyn, a stark reminder of that harsh truth came the night that Esarhaddon forced her to give an account of all that had befallen her during her ill-fated escape attempt. In anger she had lashed out, revealing far more than was perhaps wise: how she had abandoned her sons to the mercies of fate in an attempt to save them from slavery; her desperate flight through the ruins as she led the guards away from her children; the ancient crypt in which she had sought sanctuary; the fell spirit that had come to her in the guise of her husband; the attempt that it had made to claim her body as its vessel.

She loathed discussing the many horrors and woes which she had suffered, for to speak of them was to relive them. As each day faded into night, she tried to drive the events of her hours from memory as though she were burning a plot of ground in preparation for planting. Even if the day had been a pleasant one, she still strove to forget it after its passing, only retaining information which might benefit her in the future. All her strength and will was concentrated upon enduring the present, not dwelling upon the past. That was how she had learned to survive these past few months: by enduring. She gave little thought to the future, although she did hold onto the hope that she would eventually escape and return to her homeland, where she might be reunited with her sons.

Her sons. Even though she tried to imagine them safe and sound in a refugee camp somewhere deep within her homeland, she also tried not to think of them too often, for the guilt and sorrow was too much to bear. All too keenly she knew that if she relinquished the iron grip she held upon herself, that the memories would come. The night she bade farewell to her sons... the terror in Fritha's wide, innocent eyes; the horrible dismay in Frumgár's voice when he begged her not to leave them; the look of utter panic which came over Fródwine's face when she told him to lead his brothers to safety without her. How her heart felt as though it were being ripped from her chest as she fled from her children without even a hug or a kiss in farewell. Even as she strove to outrun her pursuers, her mind had been filled with regret.

And then there was that horrible uncertainty: had she done the right thing? Had she given her sons the chance for a freedom which she might never regain, or had she abandoned them to die in the chartless wilderness? Had Fródwine been able to lead his brothers to safety, or had all three of them perished along the way?

If they died, their deaths would be upon her hands; it would be no worse than if she murdered them herself.

No, Goldwyn did not want to remember.

But Esarhaddon would not let her forget.

Ever since the night that he had barged into her bedchamber to tell her of his nightmares, he had made a habit of seeking out her company, often in the late watches when she was trying to sleep. His slumber was plagued by dark dreams and terrifying visions, and he saw fit to plague hers as well, rather than waiting until a sensible hour to discuss such matters. These meetings would follow the same repetitious pattern night after night: he would tell her of the horrors that had befallen him in the forest, weighing his rigid sense of logic and rationality against the truth of what had happened. It was obvious that he was a man torn between his own knowledge and mysteries beyond his comprehension, and this discrepancy was a grievous torment to his mind.

It was one thing to endure these tedious retellings and constant vacillations between denial and acceptance, but then Esarhaddon would insist that she discuss her own experiences with the restless dead. So insatiable was his demand for answers that she felt like a prisoner being interrogated by the reeve. He could not seem to make up his mind regarding his opinion of her tale. Sometimes he hung on her every word, his brow furrowed and his gaze intense with concentration; other times, he wore the mask of the cynical scoffer and seemed to be on the verge of ridiculing her for her claims of fell spirits and haunted crypts. These discussions often followed a circular path, coming back to the beginning at the end with no progress or resolution. She soon concluded that he did not actually want answers; he just wanted to hear himself ask the questions.

One night Esarhaddon's ceaseless inquiries became too much for Goldwyn, and she began screaming hysterically, trying to drown him out with the shrill sound of her own voice. Turning to the nearby table, she hurled various objects at his face; unfortunately, her distraught state affected her aim, and each throw missed its mark. Her gaze fell upon the lantern, and she had a vision of herself smashing it into his chest. The flames would lick up his fine robes, and then they would spread to the carpet and the bedsheets. Soon the entire room would go up in flames, killing both him and her. At least in death she would have some peace and quiet.

Esarhaddon stormed and raged at this affront, calling her an ungrateful, ill-tempered shrew who did not appreciate the great magnanimity he had bestowed upon her by claiming her, an ignorant woman from a barbarian land, as his concubine. However, his late night visits did become fewer after that, and so Goldwyn accounted this as a victory. With her slumbers now uninterrupted, she spent much of her time in bed, sleeping long past dawn and even into the afternoon on some days. Life was a long, miserable journey from birth to death, but sleeping part of the way made the journey go faster.

For almost two weeks after the incident in the Thraqum Wood, the dancer had haunted Esarhaddon's dreams, taunting and teasing him, coming close to him and then retreating from his touch. She spoke not a word, but her full, red lips promised amorous bliss if only he would reach out and take what was offered. The intoxicating aroma of strong incense and fragrant perfumes surrounded her, and always were her garments of green, gold, orange and red.

Then the dream would change, and he was endlessly wandering through the Thraqum Wood, being led ever deeper into the forest by the frantic cries of a woman in peril. He felt driven to rescue her from the evil that would devour her, as though some great charge had been laid upon him. When he finally found the woman, however, the flesh would melt away from her face, leaving behind the skeletal visage of the undead.

Although the scratches upon his arms were beginning to fade, Esarhaddon was still beset by terrible exhaustion that clung to his bones like sludge from a stagnant mere. Some mornings he could barely summon the strength to leave his bed, a weakness which sorely vexed him, for he considered that any man who rose after dawn was a sluggard. He had taken to napping throughout the day, but he still felt no more rested than he had when he first closed his eyes.

The lack of restful sleep had begun to affect his mind, and he found his attention aimlessly wandering from subject to subject like a fallen leaf blown here and there by the wind. Sometimes he would become so overwhelmed that he could barely think at all, and he clutched his head between his hands, his shoulders bowing beneath the heavy weight of responsibilities which he struggled to keep. During his convalescence, Shumeeren and Chamberlain Nobo had been overseeing the villa, while his brother Erkanan had been tending to affairs concerning the House of Huzziya. While Esarhaddon would have much preferred to handle his own matters, he felt confident in the abilities of his family and servants, and knew they would keep disaster at bay.

The only thing that brought him joy and a sense of anticipation for the future was planning for the upcoming celebration to commemorate the birth of his son Mindin. It was the custom to celebrate the arrival of a new child a month to a month and a half after the birth, so that the child's health could be ascertained and the mother would have time to rest. Esarhaddon had made arrangements with the neighboring lords to have a hunt for wild game on their property, and in the evening there would be a grand feast at his manor. Anúrnissa was in charge of entertainment for the women, and her plans called for a merchants' fair and a night of tales.

Even though weakness and exhaustion had plagued his days for almost a fortnight, Esarhaddon had been abed so much that he was growing sick of his bedchamber. Not even the beautiful view of the garden from the Room of the Willows brought him happiness these days. He felt trapped within his own home, as though the walls were closing in upon him.

One evening, he decided that he had had enough of the indoors, and so he took to the roof of the manor house. The sun had almost disappeared beyond the western fields, and the bright blue sky of day was slowly fading into a soft periwinkle streaked with vibrant orange and yellow. A cool breeze stirred the air, and he sighed with a fleeting sense of contentment. Up here, gazing out over the endless fields and pastures, he felt like a king surveying his domain.

Then his attention was drawn to a dark speck moving on the road below. A horseman clad all in black rode atop a black horse. Even before the rider turned onto the lane leading to the manor, Esarhaddon felt a shiver of dread go down his spine. The brief peace he had felt was now a fleeting memory. With a sense of impending doom, he left the rooftop to welcome the visitor to his hall.

"You have been remiss in your duties, Esarhaddon uHuzziya," Lord Faikal stated, his steely gray eyes seeming to bore holes through the merchant's soul. After giving his unwanted guest a lavish welcome, Esarhaddon had ushered him into his small council chamber, where he commanded servants to stand along the wall to attend the Mordorian official's every whim. "Three days ago, the House of Huzziya was required to submit the annual Declaration of Mercantile Compliance to the appropriate officials within the Ministry of Trade. According to the directives, all proprietors must be present at this council, unless matters of trade have taken them beyond the borders of the realm."

Esarhaddon felt his face grow numb and his stomach clench with dread. "My lord, I have been grievously ill."

"So your brother Erkanan said," Faikal remarked sardonically. "However, he failed to notify the Ministry of Trade prior to the council. For one of the main proprietors of a merchandising house to request a dispensation due to illness, the proper forms must be filed in advance."

"The illness came on suddenly, and there was no time," Esarhaddon sputtered, feeling terror seep into his bones.

"If there is time to violate the laws, then there is time to obey them." Faikal's lips curled back in a sneer. "Such a lack of discipline is displeasing to the Lord of Mordor. It would be a pity indeed if the Tower were to sever ties with the House of Huzziya for a failure to comply with the directives."

"I will do all in my power to rectify this matter." Esarhaddon tried to keep the fear out of his voice. If the House of Huzziya were to lose favor with Mordor, he feared that both his head and that of his brother would be severed from their bodies.

The meeting with Lord Faikal had left Esarhaddon shaken. He considered seeking out the company of Goldwyn, but he remembered how angry she became whenever Mordorian affairs were discussed. Shumeeren's sentiments would be the exact opposite from those of Goldwyn, and he feared that she would condemn both Erkanan and him for neglecting to file for the dispensation in time. Anúrnissa had enough upon her mind with caring for a newborn; she did not need the additional stress of worrying about her husband. She already worried about him too much as it was.

Retreating to his bedchambers, Esarhaddon called for Yar to bring him a ewer of wine and a goblet. As he drank in solitude, he pondered all that had befallen him since his misadventure in the Thraqum Wood. He wondered if the dark ones had cursed him, condemning his life to ruin for his impetuosity in thinking he could thwart them in their own forest. A deep despair settled over his mind like the grim finality of dirt being shoveled into a grave, and he wondered if he would ever be free of this affliction.