Mark heard rumors from his tent mate Ferrel, a dark, handsome young boy of sixteen, that King Tarq's forces had discovered their hiding place. According to Ferrel, the avoidance spell Sindelar had set was weakening.

"So that means that the Tal is somewhere near. And where the Tal is, so is the King,” Ferrel confided as they readied weapons for practice fighting. "King Tarq isn't really all that bad. But he's being forced to fight for his crown again. It's bound to have a bad effect on his ability to keep the peace.”

Mark replied, "I really don't get why all of you are fighting. You told me everyone knows the Princess' father was crazy, and you even admit Tarq isn't bad. So why fight?"

"Old loyalties die hard, I guess."

Mark chuckled bitterly. "That's really not much of an answer."

Ferrel sighed. "Well, I wish I had a better one for you. Anyway, we'd better get on with your weapons practice. You're learning swordplay well. On light arrows, though, you need a lot of work.”

"I still don't see why you just don't bring guns along the paths. In my world, they're the most common weapon."

"They're forbidden! The Gods themselves would destroy any fool who tried to bring them through. They are not part of our world and never have been. So it's prohibited for them to be introduced.”

Mark looked at him ruefully. "If only my world felt that way."

Ferrel smiled. "Whether you believe it or not, the last idiot who tried to bring explosives through was disintegrated as he left the path. The place where I was exiled had them. I saw a man killed from forty yards, his head blown away. It was awful. At least here, with a blade or an arrow, you confront your enemy at close range. It's not so… impersonal. You feel each death, and that's what the Gods expect.”

"How old were you when you were exiled?" Mark asked, changing the subject.

"I was eleven,” Ferrel sighed. "My father was a leader in the Olenteas' faction. He raised three thousand soldiers to fight the King. My mother was Pyramus, and she refused to rebel, so she left my father and returned to her own lands. My brothers, sisters, and I stayed with my mother during the revolt. After it was over, when King Tarq exiled my father and my oldest brother Merrick, I decided to go too. Merrick didn’t even fight, but he accepted exile willingly. He couldn't stand the thought of him going into exile alone, and neither could I. So my mother gave me a choice, go with my father, be disowned, or stay with her. I chose my father. When he and Merrick were sentenced, Aunt Carr intervened, and the King allowed me to go with them. My father died four years ago, and since neither Merrick nor I were pathfinders, we couldn't come home. That is until Sindelar's maelstrom path found us.”

"So what happened to Merrick?"

Ferrel shrugged. "Hopefully, he found a way to Tarq."

"As a recruit? But he exiled you.” Mark was puzzled.

"No,” said Ferrel sadly, "Merrick's a spy. And if Tarq's people find out about him, they'll kill him.”

"Oh,” Mark was sorry for bringing the subject up. For a moment, he was silent, then he added, choosing his words carefully, “You're not happy that he's spying, are you?"

"It's not that. The King is a good man. If he'd been the one to find us, we'd have joined his forces at once. Only Sindelar found us instead, and he's holding me to force Merrick to work for him." Ferrel’s voice became softer but bitter. "You may not have noticed, but all my movements outside this tent are carefully watched.”

"What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, my mother doesn't want traitorous sons," Ferrel answered bleakly, "There's no welcome in Dal Ryeas for us. She never wants to see either of us again.” Forcing a smile, he slapped his knees and rose. "Let's go practice. Too much talk makes a soul weak and a body lazy.”

Mark followed him. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was half-risen in a cloudless azure sky, the trees a lush green. People were hurrying all over the camp, looking severe and busy. As the two young men proceeded to the practice field, his new friend’s handling of adversity suddenly awed Mark. Ferrel was incredibly brave. To have gone so bravely into exile with his father was an astounding choice for a young boy. Mark tried to imagine himself having to make such a choice. But you are in exile, a small voice said inside him. Ferrel made a choice to go. You didn't get a chance to choose. Events just pulled you along.

Mark carefully scrutinized his friend as they walked to an open field with their weapons. He was four years older than Ferrel, yet somehow the boy seemed more mature. Looking for outward manifestations of Ferrell's courage, all Mark saw was a lanky sixteen-year-old with long, dark-brown hair that brushed his shoulders. Though he often smiled, his eyes hinted at the turbulence so early in his life. Only when Ferrel spoke of Merrick did the weariness leave his face.

Before beginning his own practice, Mark watched Ferrel’s session with the sword mistress. Slender and tall, Ferrel did not seem to be a warrior, yet his thin body was tautly muscled. Even a novice like Mark realized how good the younger boy was. He wondered, briefly, if he could ever learn these skills.

Mark then started his own work with the light arrows. Unlike the bows of his world, the bow was a cross between a longbow and a rifle. The aim was through a sighting mechanism. The weapon loaded a long three-foot arrow with a curly barbed head along a barrel. Knocking and sighting the arrow along the shaft using a pull trigger, yanking back the string to eye level, and releasing the trigger shot the arrow. Unlike a crossbow, the light arrows were full-shafted and feathered, not a short quarrel. The arrows used in battle were anointed with glowing ointment that burned the target, be it flesh or stone.

Mark's proficiency with the bow gun was increasing. Ferrel, an excellent teacher, arranged equal practice with the sword. Working hard, neither young man noted the passing of the morning until a sword mistress called a halt.

"Come, even young warriors need to eat,” she said, smiling. "Why don't you join me?"

Gratefully, the two young men did so. They were so engrossed in the assessments of the sword mistress over their respective styles that they never saw the ornately-dressed girl standing at the edge of the field.

"Mark,” Lisa called imperiously. "I wish to speak with you.”

"Oh, God.” Mark groaned. He dreaded talking to Lisa these days. Her ardent admiration of the Princess was already affecting her manners in all ways. He wearily glanced at Ferrel before getting up and approaching his tyrannical little sister.

"I do not appreciate being made to wait,” Lisa began in her best imitation Killia-voice, which made Mark inwardly shudder. There was something distasteful to him about anything concerning the Princess.

"I'm sorry, Lisa. I didn't see you standing there.” Mark said wearily. "I was practicing.”

"So I noticed,” Lisa frowned and then abruptly dropped her haughty façade as she moved closer to him. "Mark, why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not, Leese. I just don't live in the royal tents.” He said this without any emphasis, trying not to upset her. Lisa's temper, always quick, was even more erratic in the two weeks they had been in the camp. Mark worriedly considered what toll this world, in fact, this whole situation, would have on her state of mind, if not now, perhaps later on in life.

"I dreamed about Mom last night,” she said in a tiny voice. "And Daddy and everybody. Sometimes I don't think of them for days.” She looked at the mixture of compassion and love on her brother's face. "Mark, how long have we been here?"

"About two weeks, maybe a bit more," he answered carefully.

"Do you think Diana got in touch with them about what happened to us?"

"I'm certain of it,” Mark reassured her soothingly. "But remember, all Di knows is that we vanished in the backyard.”

"Are we ever going home?" Lisa turned from him and looked towards the trees.

"I don't know. I hope so.” Mark went on without thinking. "I think they could send us back now, but for some reason, they don't.”

"Sindelar says he needs the Tal to pinpoint accuracy,” Lisa replied primly.

"Oh hell, Lisa, they can send us back to our world, and I can figure out a way to get us home.”

"They can't, I asked. Killia told me that all of Sindelar's crystals are focused on bringing everyone here to Dal Ryeas. To reverse even one path opening takes tremendous energy, and he can't afford to do this since Tarq is so close.” She lowered her voice, and suddenly it seemed to Mark she was thirteen and innocent again. "I even heard that Tarq's wizard, Carr, is trying to force a breach in the protective wards.”

"Well, you certainly hear a lot in the royal pavilion,” Mark answered, trying to seem amused.

 "Princess Killia is training me to be a lady-in-waiting. She's even promised me a title and an estate when she comes into her own.”

"But they're going to send us home, I thought.” Mark looked uneasy now.

"If they can,” Lisa replied airily, her thoughts of home vanishing in an instant. It infuriated Mark that she could change her attitude so quickly.

"You know, I think you're really so enmeshed with the Princess that you've forgotten something.” Mark snapped at her. "You've just flip-flopped. One minute you want to go home, the next you want to stay here on Dal Ryeas. You've managed to forget that this isn't our fight. We don't know what's really going on. You've chosen the Princess, fine, but you aren't of this place and, honey, we're a long way from home. Maybe you're happy doing nothing, being pampered and spoiled, but remember these people are preparing for war. And that's no place for a little girl from Cleveland Heights to find herself.”

Lisa was furious. "You… you turd! These people have been wonderful! You're just jealous like you always are. First, when Diana and I became so close, then when Lauren was so nice to me, and now because the Princess prefers me to you. And why not? All you ever do is complain and make nasty remarks about my friends! I hate you! I never want to see you again!" She spun away, beginning to cry.

"Lisa!” Mark exclaimed, trying to reach for her, but she shook away from his grasp and ran to the waiting arms of Princess Killia, who, with Captain Volta, stood at the edge of the practice field. Mark wondered how long they had been there and how much Killia heard. The way the princess looked at him now, while gently caressing Lisa's flaming curls, told him all he needed to know. With sudden clarity, Mark knew that Killia would use his new breach with Lisa to strengthen her hold on the girl.

After a moment, Killia turned and gently escorted Lisa back to the Royal tents, leaving Volta to watch Mark speculatively. "Watch your step, young Mark," she warned, "The Princess is not noted for her kindness to traitors.” Then Volta turned and followed Killia and Lisa.

Mark turned to Ferrel when the trio was out of hearing range. "How the hell can I be a traitor if I'm not even one of her subjects?"

Ferrel worriedly watched the retreating figures a moment before he answered. "Be careful, Mark. No one knows what Killia's capable of doing.”