Ever since we set up this rude camp, Nevvyn has been acting strange. He paces, he stops, he closes his eyes for a moment. Then he starts all over again, but ends in a different spot. He seems to be listening for something he can't quite hear or looking for something he can't quite see. Suddenly, his eyes fly wide and he has a look of near panic. Purposefully, he strides to the road and takes some 20 paces in the direction of the enemy camp. I follow at a short distance, as Fenian has deputized me to look after the old wizard. He freezes in mid-stride and looks all around. Then he looks up, shakes his head and noiselessly vanishes into the woods on the far side of the road. When I approach the spot, I find a narrow game trail, all but invisible in the pre-dawn murk.

The night is rent by an unearthly scream! It comes from below, near the edge of the bog. Nevvyn doubles his speed and heads directly for whatever it was that emitted that frightful wail. I hurry to catch up with the old man, making as little noise as possible. For a moment, I wonder if anyone saw us leave and thought to follow? While I am lost in thought, he stops and I nearly run into the back of him.

A thin screen of dead trees and brush give a view of a marshy clearing. By the light of a small fire on a half-suken stone, we see a strange drama unfolding. The one called Lasair stands before a man in the black robes of a drui sacrificer. The sword in Lasair's hand is blooded halfway to the hilt and the sacrificer clutches his robes to his chest as if trying very hard to hold something in. Beyond this grisly tableau, two others stand in the shadows. Nevvyn has no interest in these! His eyes are on a sodden lump near the druid's feet.