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The air warmed with day, and the ice on the track
changed to mud. It gripped the cart wheels and the
sergeant's boots with fervor, but neither Soren nor the brave
Nuitari complained. They climbed a long, grassy hill to an
ancient ring of standing stones. Strange images were graven
on the triliths. Sturm knew dark forces were abroad in the
land. He held close to his mother when they stopped amid
the ruined circle.
Soren advanced to the crest of the hill. He pointed down
to a vista Sturm could not see. "It is Thel," he said.
Thel was a modest town of five-hundred souls, but to
Sturm's eye, it was a complete city. Some of the half-
timbered houses had three stories - not so tall as the towers
of Castle Brightblade, but so full of people! Sturm was
fascinated.
Soren walked the cart along the high street. The toll of
four days and nights on the road was obvious. Even Lady
Ilys was bedraggled, her fair face chapped by raw wind and
her soul weighed down with bitterness and hurt.
The Thelites paid them no large attention as they
passed. Strangers and refugees were common in the town.
Lady Ilys, for her part, ignored them in turn.
"Rabble. Riff-raff," she said through pursed lips
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