[Mist]

Mirro sat quietly in the darkest shadows of pre-dawn. Behind the tree, under which he sat, the eastern sky was beginning to exhibit a hint of color, sufficient light for the gnome to conduct his study. He began with a simple illusionary moth, fluttering about the campfire's fading embers and Thorsten's slumbering form. When the quick, chaotic movements repeatedly failed to get within a hand's breadth of the man, the illusionist tried the slow deliberate approach of a spider, then two from opposite sides, and then a horde from every compass point. For over an hour, Mirro tried various forms of magic on the man, all discrete and most illusionary.

In the end, he determined that Thorsten Stiele was enshrouded within a field of null-magic and that it was not generated by any artificial means. A field emanating from a ring or such would be somewhat consistent, but Stiel's field was in an erratic state of flux, growing and shrinking unpredictably while he slept.

Individuals' possessing various levels of magical resistance is relatively common, nearly the entire dwarven race shared this trait to some extent. Less common, but not unheard of, was a magical resistance so strong that it was termed anti-magic by the ignorant, null-magic was the proper term. Anti-magic is more than the absence of magic or the dispelling of it; anti-magic would be the opposite of magic or the opposition to it. Nevertheless, a magical resistance so strong, as to generate a null field was unheard of, at least to the illusionist, Mirro Mist.

The implications were numerous and potentially troublesome. Obviously, a man of null-magic would be incapable of perceiving simple mind illusionism, an individual's advantage and a team's detriment. On one hand, he was immune to a straightforward magical assault, and then on the other hand, he would also be immune to beneficial magic. To him, spells of healing would do nothing. The other points of view that Mirro supplies to Teren in battle, or the images of friends and maps, would not be received. Yet he was still capable of mortal injury from magic, if cast cunningly. Environmental illusionism should still be effective, if kept out of the null field. He could still hurt himself running from a charging bear, or not see the real one until much too late. Nearly any mage can dislodge a rock by magic, but the crushing boulder is very real, and very deadly. Mirro pitied Thorsten, the man of null-magic lost much more than he gained.

The very concept of null fields generated by the inept, required more thought and much more study. Mirro dispelled the swarm of gnats harassing Thorsten's sleep and let his eyes wander about their small camp. On the far side of the smoking ruins of last night's fire, Terentus slept with his head nestled in Ice's soft white fur. M'Tago's tent was quiet, maybe too quiet. Mirro realized that he no longer heard Repeeknon's heavy breathing. That could merely mean that the odd mage was lying awake, but then it could also mean something more sinister. Any charlatan that was capable of hiding his secret from Mirro's expert eyes was capable of anything. M'Tago was paying for protection from a threat, even a threat from within.

Quietly creeping towards the tent, the gnome peeked inside and saw Repeeknon's bedroll was slept in, but was now empty. Opening the tent flap a little further, Mirro confirmed that M'Tago was alone and on the verge of waking. Puzzled over another of Repeeknon's acts, the gnome scurried over to Terentus, waking the dog and the man before he ever got close.

"Repeeknon is missing!"

[M'Tago]

Mirro's touch on the tent flap caused the warning wards on the tent to shriek a mental alarm. M'Tago was awake in an instant. The artificer threw off his blanket and clambered to his feet. His eyes caught the empty bedroll on the other side of the tent just as he heard the gnome's ominous proclamation.

[Thorsten]

Thorsten also heard Mirro's declaration. He came to his feet in one flowing movement, left hand clutching the scabbard of his ever-present short sword, right hand on its hilt.

"What's this, then?" he asked the gnome, his eyes casting about for any signs of a struggle.

[M'Tago]

"How in the?" M'Tago started in wonder. There should have been no way for the mage to exit the tent without M'Tago's wards giving warning. And yet, the man was indeed gone.

Several thoughts raced through the artificer's mind. First most among them was the fact Repeeknon was even more powerful than M'Tago had first realized. Second, the mage was several ounces short of a full pint. He was capable of anything. Third, and most important was this: Repeeknon had seen the map. He knew where M'Tago was headed and his pursuers would pay handsomely for that knowledge.

"Flames of the underworld," M'Tago swore under his breath. He tried to calm himself. Perhaps the man was just out for a stroll. It was possible.

But not very probable.

M'Tago resigned himself to finding out what had happened, if possible, and continuing on, if it were not. He fastened his cloak about his neck and stepped out of the tent.

The artificer fixed his eyes on the gnome and said, succeeding in keeping his voice steady in spite of the turmoil of his emotions, "Did you see him leave?"

[Drageon, Mist]

Mirro glared at M'Tago as if he was the dimmest lack-wit ever to walk the lands of Ifreann. "If I had seen him leave, I would NOT have been surprised that he was gone!" the gnome snapped, sparking a lengthy argument concerning magical wards and common decency.

Teren combed Thunder with increasing frustration, not with his horse or the new tangles in his tail, but with Mirro and M'Tago. What is the commotion all about? Repeeknon is missing. So what? He wasn't much good anyway. Finally, the young man heard all that he cared to. "For love of mercy! You two are behaving, as if you have never known a magi to disappear."

Stashing away the horse comb, Teren turned on the arguing duo. "Mirro, I know for a fact that you can literally vanish in the blink of an eye. I suspect that M'Tago can do much the same. Repeeknon will either turn-up or he wont. So, unless we need to waste more time and assault each others ears, I suggest that we move on."

With that, the golden archer jumped into Thunder's saddle and impetuously waited for the others to follow his example. The gnome was about to argue when Ice barked dangerously close to his face, forcing Mirro backwards to his cart. Mirro hastily climbed aboard, giving the dog, his partner, and his employer a look bordering on hatred.

"The young fool has a point, and I have other matters begging for attention," said the illusionist with begrudging acquiescence. Taking up the mule's reins, Mirro barked a command at M'Tago and Stiele, "Let's go!"

[Thorsten]

Thorsten watched the argument unfold with some amusement. While he could claim no knowledge of things arcane, it was obvious to him what had happened. Repeeknon had succeeded in using magic to leave the camp undetected. This upset both M'Tago and Mirro to the point of coming to verbal blows.

Thorsten could hardly care less. The strange mage had been an unknown quantity and his leaving left Thorsten feeling he had one less thing to worry about. He would concern himself if and when the strange man returned.

Having to leave in the middle of the night, however, was a bit disappointing. Having stood first watch, he had received less sleep than either Teren or M'Tago. While he could go without, he knew he would be much sharper on point if he could get a few more hours. He wondered if the Repeeknon's disappearance was really as big a deal as M'Tago seemed to be making of it.

"So we're packing up camp early?" Thorsten asked M'Tago.

[M'Tago]

Mirro's impertinence angered M'Tago greatly. The artificer was a proud man at the best of times and he didn't take kindly to the gnome's questioning the strength of his wards. He was sorely tempted to blast the offender to oblivion, but he held his anger in check.

The truth was, Repeeknon HAD succeeded in getting past his wards. The fact that Mirro had also failed to remark Repeeknon's departure meant that he, too, had been hoodwinked by the strange mage. This thought lessened M'Tago's anger to some degree. Misery certainly loved company.

M'Tago could only agree to Drageon/Mist's suggestion that they leave now. However Repeeknon had managed to slip the camp, he was a very real threat to the success of the mission and M'Tago was determined to let nothing stop him in his quest.

He grasped the key stake of his tent and uttered the command word. The tent quickly unstaked and cleaned itself, then rolled into a compact package. M'Tago retrieved the bundle and stashed it on the packhorse.

"Of course we're leaving early!" he snapped at Stiele, "You think I'm packing for my health?"

[Thorsten]

Thorsten didn't point out that he had asked the question BEFORE M'Tago had packed his tent. He wisely held his tongue and saw to his own bedroll.

With the other's waiting impatiently for him, Thorsten mounted his horse and set off at point.

[M'Tago]

M'Tago tarried behind just long enough to place a small stoppered bottle on the ground at the center of the campsite. He removed the stopper, then mounted his horse and rode quickly away.

A small tendril of green smoke snaked its way out of the bottle, tentatively at first, then with much more vigor. Soon, a blanket of glowing green mist covered the campsite. The sickly green carpet would not cease expanding until it had covered the area for miles in all directions.

[Sephyr/Arturo]

Sephyr stood on a hill miles outside of Monfort. The wind was blowing, and her blue taffeta cloak billowed out behind the elf, giving her the appearance of wings. Her eyes were closed and she gave the impression that she was listening for something on the breeze.

Arturo Ringhand sat astride a large spotted pony, holding the reins of Sephyr's palomino in his right hand. They had made good time out of Montfort and Arturo estimated that they had halved the distance between themselves and their quarry. They had stopped for a moment to regain their bearings, but the aeromancer had been standing like that for well over an hour and Arturo's patience was wearing thin.

"What's taking so long?" he muttered under his breath. He rebuked himself instantly. Sephyr knew what she was doing and would have their information soon enough.

At that moment, the wind concentrated itself on the hilltop. Leaves and small branches were swept up into a miniature whirlwind that grew to twice the size of a man then positioned itself directly in front of the motionless elf. It hovered there for several seconds, then dissipated with a wave of the aeromancer's hand.

"The trail continues for several miles straight ahead, following more or less parallel to the river," Sephyr said as she walked over and took her horse's reins from Arturo. "Then it disappears suddenly. The spirit could find no trace of M'Tago's party anywhere within five miles of that point."

Arturo swore. "The elemental tracks by scent, yes?"

Sephyr nodded.

"Then I've a hunch what we'll find. A little trick of my own creation, if I'm not mistaken. Take me to the point where your friend lost the trail. We'll have to do this the hard way."

(to be continued...)