Connelly hid in the bushes along the path that led back to his clan's settlement. He was glad the moon was not out that night. He appreciated the extra darkness. He held his breath and muttered a spell to keep his father's horse, tied to a tree further away from the path, quiet. He had been returning from Portaiden, the village in the valley below, when he'd noticed a strange glow on the path ahead. Most nights he would not have concerned himself with it, but he was cautious these days. Marsden Paddock had been speaking up against his clan again, trying to get together a group to drive them out of the area. Usually Connelly ignored his ramblings, as did most of the townsfolk. The Paddocks had been antagonistic towards the En'ric for as long as anyone in the town or mountains could remember. The Paddocks were as old as dirt and still remembered all the times they'd been driven from Portaiden by the En'ric on their flying mounts. Never mind that it had been hundreds of years since that had happened, or that the En'ric no longer had their mounts. The Paddocks still burned with fury towards the En'ric, and their fury had been slowly passing to the rest of the town.

Portaiden had recently become a hub for refugees from the Northlands, driven from their homes by the Dauwearths. Only a handful living on the shores of the Northlands had escaped the initial attacks, and these had fled inland to warn their fellow countrymen. Only a few did not believe the reports. The rest, it seemed, had headed for Portaiden straight away.

Because of this, Marsden and his family had been finding more than a few sympathetic ears these days, and the spindly spider of a man had been strutting around town with a straggle of disciples in tow. The refugees were more than prepared to be drawn in by his family's tales of woe at the hands of the En'ric. It didn't help that the goddess of the En'ric, Ena, and the god of the Dauwearths, Dau, were lovers. Which was strange, Connelly thought, since the Dau known to the En'ric was a pacifist, hardly the type to choose a bloodthirsty brood like the Dauwearths as his people. This discrepancy, however, didn't much matter to the refugees: the Dauwearths and the En'ric were essentially the same in their minds, thanks to the Paddocks. And it wasn't just the refugees anymore. Even some of the townspeople were beginning to look askance at Connelly, with his long, fiery hair and strange clothing. He'd begun considering chopping his hair and dressing like the townsfolk, even if it meant leaving his clan. The townspeople were much more interesting anyway.

Connelly saw the glow growing closer on the path well before he could hear the hooves striking the ground. Atop a broad, well-nourished horse sat a thin, imperious man. Held high in his hand was a fist sized stone that had been enchanted to emit a pale blue light. Marsden Paddock. Connelly fought his impulse to spit. Behind him were about forty armed men, some also mounted, most on foot. They all wore hoods to hide their faces. The cowards. He began creeping back to his horse as quickly as the underbrush would allow.

Once he felt he was out of earshot, Connelly spat. He knows it's Shavnha tonight, he thought as he mounted the horse. For once he was glad to be late to the festival. He hoped they hadn't already begun the Faele na Maravh.

Shavnha was the festival of the dead. It began around supper time and continued until daybreak the next day. First there would be food and legends would be told of heroes passed away. The clan's druid would say some words about remembering the past and about honoring the dead. Then the clan would start a bonfire and gather around. There would be dancing and music. All the while, the druid would watch the mountaintop that loomed over the settlement. Then, at some point, he would give a shout. Everything would fall silent, and the clan would encircle the bonfire. This was the beginning of the Faele na Maravh.

The Faele na Maravh, the feast of the dead, was the one time each year that the living were allowed to meet with the dead without ill consequences. Ena, the goddess of the En'ric, had provided this as a way of ensuring that the wisdom of previous generations never passed from the clans. The only downside of this ritual was that it required the abandonment of the physical body. During Faele na Maravh, every member of the tribe slept the sleep of the dead. They would do so for as long as the druid's fire burned.

Connelly spurred his horse into action. He was no Rider yet, but he could handle a quick night-time gallop through the forest. He held his breath again, spinning a quick spell to help his vision, then held on for dear life. He heard shouts from the glow quickly fading behind him and he cursed. He prayed to Ena for good fortune.

As he neared the commons of his settlement, he knew he was too late. Already the huge bonfire was lit. He heard no sound save the roar of the flames and the hooves pounding behind him. Around the fire sat his clan, completely motionless, already in the trance of Faele na Maravh. He spared a glance behind and saw there were three mounted men closing in on him. He dashed behind the bonfire, putting it between him and the men. Connelly spun his horse around, said a quick prayer of protection to Ena, and leaped through the flames, narrowly avoiding landing on the En'ric seated on the other side. His pursuers hadn't expected him to come shooting out of the fire and he easily slipped between them, dashing into the forest. The three hooded men wheeled their steeds towards the forest, giving chase.

Connelly bent low over his horse, his mind racing. He was fairly certain that nobody in the village would fight for the En'ric at this point. He certainly couldn't handle a mob of forty armed men by himself. He could try summoning Ena, but he wasn't a druid and besides, she hadn't really helped much since taking the pacifist Dau as her lover. Still, it was his best bet. If her people were about to be slaughtered, perhaps she would hear him. He steered his horse around and began heading back up the mountain. As he passed by the settlement, his blood ran cold. Marsden had arrived.

The man was circling the clan, sword drawn. He poked at one of the clan members with his foot and she fell over, muscles locked. Connelly dug his heels into his horse, trying to urge it to go even faster, even though he knew it was hopeless. Suddenly there was a rushing sound and the night was plunged into darkness. Connelly's horse stumbled, throwing Connelly off his saddle and over the horse’s neck. He landed unceremoniously on the hard ground, knocking the wind out of him. Connelly held what little breath he had and cast the sight spell again. He could barely see anything further than three feet away. In an instant, the familiar blue glow of Marsden's magic rock lit the area. Connelly blinked hard as his eyes adjusted to the light. Between the trees he glimpsed Marsden dashing away from the now smoldering bonfire as the clan began to wake from their trance. One of the clan's men jumped up and began pursuing the interloper. Connelly narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth in hatred for Marsden. He would kill his clan while they sat unsuspecting in the trance of Faele na Maravh but would not stand and fight them face to face? He drew the dagger strapped to his belt and threw it at the man's throat. It struck its target. Marsden dropped to the ground and clutched at his throat, trying desperately to quell the blood flowing from his wound. With great agony, he freed the knife from his throat and tried to throw it back at Connelly. He missed his target by several feet. Finally the man collapsed in the dirt, curled up in a ball, and bled out. Marsden's pursuer stopped in his tracks and now stared openly at Connelly. The air was silent. The whole clan seemed to be staring too.

Connelly turned on his heel and began to stalk deeper into the woods. He was pissed. Here he was saving their worthless skins and all they could do was stare like he'd done something wrong. He hadn't really wanted to kill the man anyway... actually he had, now that he thought about it. No, he was mad at what he knew the whole clan was probably thinking. Well, they could kiss his ass for all he cared. They were fooling themselves if they thought things could have been resolved in a better way. No, he thought to himself as he became cognizant of the hooded figures melting away into the dark, things could have gone a lot worse.

For a moment he thought he felt his father’s firm hand on his shoulder. Biting back a curse, he shrugged off the feeling and disappeared further into the woods. The settlement was the last place he wanted to be just then.