For the next hour, the only sounds were natural forest sounds. In a short time, they had become familiar to Mark, and it was oddly comforting. He remembered all the stories he had heard about strange disappearances at home: the Bermuda Triangle, Judge Crater, and the Marie Celeste. He wondered if he and Lisa had just become another "unsolved" mystery.

Eventually, they reached a large clearing, an almost perfect circle with giant trees sheltering it from prying eyes. All around stood many tents. Hundreds of people moved about their business. Horses and other animals vaguely resembling Earth's species scattered around the campsite in corrals. In the center, two large pavilions stood side by side. On one flew a flag of forest green with a flying bird. The other had no pennons or banners, but in front of it was a hastily constructed platform. Seated on this dais was the most beautiful woman Mark or Lisa had ever seen.

Killia Tadiak, exiled Princess of Dal Ryeas and Sindelar’s ward, was tall, with strikingly large and cold green eyes, cascading blond hair bound by an intricate circlet of gold, diamonds, and pearls, and held an aura of aloof royalty. Even in her field uniform, a green velvet tunic banded with lighter green satin ribbon, green leggings, and leather boots, she appeared every inch the princess. Around her neck hung an heirloom pendant of dark flashing emeralds set on a massive gold and platinum chain. Her long, graceful hands lay quietly in her lap unadorned by any jewels except a small thin diamond band belonging to her father. Her attention was riveted on her companion on the dais.

Lisa was so busy staring at the woman and wishing that she looked like her, she barely felt Captain Volta's hand on her shoulder, signaling her to stand still. Coming up beside her, Mark poked her in the arm to get her to pay attention to the speaker.

"And because you, my loyal companions in exile, because of you, we will break Tarq's evil hold over our beloved country and restore our Princess to the throne rightfully hers!" The Princess on the dais acknowledged the cheer that arose with a graceful nod.

"Together, we will triumph. This usurper has refused our peace offering, our compromise that would have averted war. He refused the hand of our Princess. For five long years, I alone have harassed this Pyramus King to avenge this slight. I have sent him the creatures of nightmares: griffins, dragons, manticores, and as many other dreads as I could conjure. I have traveled the paths through the coreworlds and the edgeworlds. I found our exiles, and I have brought you home. My maelstroms will end our disgrace. Here, and at our camp at Morsea, we are amassing the finest armies in all the universes."

A cheer went up again. To Mark, they could have been at a sporting event and sitting close to the field, so loud the voices had become.

"We will defeat Tarq and reclaim the Ryean Tal for Tadiak. Killia shall reign in Dal Ryeas, and you will all feast with her at her royal seat in Tadia!" The speaker held his arms wide as the cheer arose for the third time.

Mark glanced at Lisa and saw that her attention had shifted from the Princess to the speaker. Sindelar was a tall, slender man with dark brown hair and dark olive skin. He looked about forty but was addressing the crowd with the energy of a man half his age. Mark watched, feeling that every gesture, every expression, was carefully rehearsed and choreographed.

As the speaker turned to the Princess, his hand outstretched, he presented her to the crowd, and she rose from her seat to speak. "Lord Sindelar, our most loyal and puissant wizard, speaks for me. I invite you to feast with me in Tadia when we have conquered this demon King!" Killia smiled and sat down again.

In the brief, silent confusion that followed the Princess' short and unrevealing speech, Lisa exclaimed, "Oh Mark, isn't she beautiful!"

From her seat, the Princess heard the girl's comment. Glancing over the crowd, she saw the slight young girl standing next to a young man only a few years older. As the group finally realized that the gathering was over and put up another ragged cheer, she said quietly to Sindelar in amusement, "Are your maelstroms calling children here now, Sorcerer?"

"Children? Where?" Sindelar looked confused. "Tyrmandos and even Tarq allowed those with families to pay fines and return home. No children are out there."

"Then," the princess indicated Volta and her charges, "how did she get here?"

Sindelar frowned as he saw Lisa. "Volta, bring them to my tent!" he snapped, then jumped down from the platform and stalked away in a fury. Killia followed, chuckling.

Captain Volta escorted Lisa and Mark to the pavilion directly behind the dais and had them sit on a low daybed. Lisa, suddenly very frightened by the way things were happening so fast, huddled against Mark, who unconsciously put a comforting arm around her.

Volta tried to engage them in small talk but had no clue what to say to these strange exiles from the edges. They were such odd-looking youth. Their clothing was faded and torn. The trousers were of the same heavy dark blue material, and the styling was the same for both. Only their tops differed. The girl wore a short-sleeved pullover top of bright colors while the boy was wearing a dark collar-less shirt and a jacket of the same material as the trousers. Volta surmised they were in a uniform of some kind and that the maelstrom had caught them only half-dressed.

"Your uniform, what type is it?" she finally asked Lisa.

"What uniform?"

Volta tried again. "The uniform you and your companion wear. Do the different shirt colors indicate different specialties or branches of service? Perhaps a trainee versus a veteran fighter? And it must be an icy place where you come from."

Mark and Lisa exchanged bewildered looks and didn't answer. Volta, feeling foolish and hating it, did not speak again. Before the silence became too awkward, loud sounds came from outside the tent. Volta surged to her feet and stood at attention. Mark and Lisa rose slowly, still huddled together.

Killia entered first, followed by Sindelar. Carefully, the magus showed the Princess to a seat and motioned for Volta to leave. Without a glance at the children, the Captain saluted the magus, bowed to the princess, and left. Suddenly bereft of the only person they knew, Mark and Lisa tightly held hands.

Up close, Sindelar was even more attractive than he had appeared on the dais. He was a tall man with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. His smile was cold and never quite reached his eyes. He nervously paced around the tent, playing casually with small items scattered on various tables. He never looked directly at Mark or Lisa but seemed intimately aware of their every move and gesture.

Princess Killia sat in a high-backed canvas chair. Her hair looked spun from gold, and her green eyes were a true emerald color. Fairy tales and stories of beautiful damsels raced through Lisa's head as she gazed with sudden intensity at the princess. Mark thought her beauty breathtaking.

Lisa was enthralled.

Killia smiled at such scrutiny and raised a languid hand. "Come here, child," she beckoned Lisa.

Breaking her hold of Mark's hand, Lisa approached the Princess. She tried to curtsy, as she had seen people do on television. Killia found this amusing and laughed softly, but Lisa colored, a bit embarrassed. Seeing this, Killia sobered quickly and asked, "What are you called, girl?"

"My name is Lisa Harrison," she paused and added, "Ma'am" since it just seemed right somehow.

The princess reached forward and grasped a long, red lock of Lisa's hair. "Look at this, Sindelar. Have you ever seen such a lovely color?"

Lisa's blush almost matched her hair. Throughout her life, Lisa heard comments about her fierce red until she became quite blasé about them. But Killia's intense fascination was at once exhilarating and embarrassing. Lisa felt that she wanted to please this Princess above all else. She forgot her timidity and fear of this new place, and she impetuously gave her complete trust to the beautiful woman seated before her.

Sensing that Lisa was experiencing an instant case of hero worship, Mark felt her drift further away from him physically and emotionally. He turned to the enchanter and held out his hand, "I am Mark Harrison, Sir," trying to get Sindelar's attention, which focused on Lisa and the Princess. The magus shifted his stern gaze to him suddenly, and Mark felt even more distant. "S-sir, where are we, and how do we get home?"

"I am sorry, young sir, but you and your lovely sister here have inadvertently been ensnared in a maelstrom path. I give you my heartiest apologies for having snatched you from your home."

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" Sindelar asked, a bit testily.

"What is a maelstrom path? What is going on? Where are we?"

"Where are you from?" Sindelar asked patiently.

"The United States."

"The what? No, I mean, what world? Is it a core or an edge?"

"Core? Edge? I don't know what you're talking about!" Mark's frustration was boiling over.

"Saevirg! They come from the very edges!" Sindelar marveled, suddenly pacing again, "They have no contact!" He stopped and looked at the boy a bit more kindly, "Well, Mark Harrison, the paths are the ways we travel through the universes of the Creator. Right now, we are in an uninhabited part of the world called Dal Ryeas. Many other places exist at the whim of the Creator and his children, and all have paths leading to them. Since you are from an edgeworld, there are not so many paths or people who wish to travel them. Obviously, on your world, they have fallen into disuse. From a guess, I'd say that strong sciences are your mainstay and that sorcery is not a factor in your homeworld, your edgeworld. I also venture to guess that this is your first brush with magic."

"Uh... yes." Mark stammered. "How do you know that about our world?"

"You are unused to pathwalking, which is a good indicator," Sindelar grinned, but his smile again didn't touch his eyes. "We here all know that the laws that cover the core worlds do not apply to the edges quite the same way as they do here. Your overlords seem to encourage science over magic. It's a matter of choice, actually. I've walked the edges enough to recognize an inhabitant when I see one." He then smiled a dazzling and cold smile. "Or in this case, two."

Mark still looked confused, but Sindelar laughed. "Enough of this. We'll talk about this more later. After all, you will be here a while."

"What do you mean by that? Can't you just magic, or whatever, us home? That's how you brought us here, isn't it?"

"I wish it were that easy," Sindelar chuckled ruefully, "But you see, I am rather stuck."

"Stuck? How?" Mark felt his stomach start to churn.

"I am unable to return you to your home at this time. If I tried to without specific understanding from where you came, I could cast you adrift along the paths, possibly forever."

"Then how did you get us here?" Mark could feel his temper rising, and his face stiffening into an angry mask. It was just like talking to Lisa, he thought bitterly. Every question asked resulted in only more confusion.

"My apologies, children, but three years ago, I set in motion a spell to call the exiles home."

"Exiles?"

Princess Killia interjected, "Lord Sindelar had been helping me gather my scattered forces from the edge and coreworlds. A battle will return me to my rightful place as Queen of Dal Ryeas. We are trying to overthrow the usurper Tarq and regain the Ryean Tal." The princess' husky, breathless voice was mesmerizing.

"What is the Tal?" Once again, Mark felt lost in incomprehensible explanations.

"It is the focus. Simply put, with the Tal, one may manipulate the magic of the universes to create a path specifically to a distant location. The Tal embraces the power of any spell and aids the magic of even the feeblest sorcerer. Only the very best, like Lord Sindelar here, can ever thwart the Tal's power when the one holds it that is consecrated to it. It has endless uses. It could even help us locate the proper path for you to go home."

Mark brightened a bit, still gazing at the princess.

"However, our pathfinders and pathforgers would need exact information from you. With the Tal, we wouldn't have needed it. What Sindelar did was circumvent the Tal and raise the storms for three years. With the Tal, it may have taken three hours. He has no idea which world you come from, and without the Tal, we can't be sure."

The Princess felt sorry for Mark as she caught his look and continued gently, "Pathfinders are people who can travel the already established paths between the worlds. A Finder can return to any world once he or she has been there. A pathforger can also follow the established paths and create new ones, locate safe places, like little pockets, within the voids of the universes, and shield them. These are instrumental talents and accomplished without the aid of the Tal. But with the Tal, the anointed and bound, and their magic workers can change worlds." Killia's voice took on a dream-like tone, perhaps thinking about possessing the Tal herself.

"What does the Tal look like?" Lisa asked.

"The Ryean Tal is beautiful," the princess replied in a hushed voice as if sharing a secret. "It's a stone of deep purples with greens and other shades singing in it, wrapped in silver wire. It has an inner power, and the music of the gods travels through it."

"Poetic," Sindelar smirked, "but essentially accurate."

"Where is this Tal?" Mark asked.

"With Tarq for now," Killia's voice took on a vicious, sneering tone. "But I will regain it, fear not. Tadiak will rule once more!"

"Be patient, my Princess," Sindelar urged. "It will take time." He turned to Mark and Lisa. "Until then, you are our guests. Our tents are yours. Once we hold the Tal, we will send you home."

Killia rose and held out her hand to Lisa. "Come, child, you must be tired and hungry. We will go to my tent and get you settled. I think that I will make you one of my ladies. And get you some new clothes."

Mark watched as the Princess led his younger sister to her tent, chatting comfortably with the girl. He saw Lisa trust this stranger as she had never trusted him, and it hurt him immensely. Sindelar watched Mark from the corner of his eye and saw the distrust and anger in his eyes.

"Come, Mark," the magus interrupted the young man's bitter thoughts, "I'll find you a place to stay. I know another young man here who spent much time in the edges. You two will be able to talk." Sindelar felt vaguely sorry for Mark, a boy suddenly torn from everything he knew, and thrust into a fight not his own.

And all he could wonder was how did the maelstrom catch them?