The sun had sunk low in the sky, dusting the thin clouds with a dirty orange that clashed with the faded, pale, blue-gray, when Baru began to consider where he might camp for the night. On the edge of the blight, firewood was plentiful, taking him only moments to gather an armful and find a depression among the hills to start a fire. He had spent all afternoon looking for anything that moved so he could kill it and eat it. All he had left was a handful of keleos nuts and a growing hatred of keleos bread. He considered this as he sat in the spreading shadows, sawing with a fire bow, waiting for his bit of dried moss to ignite. At times like this he could feel the weight of his family and friends' memories fully upon him and the loneliness became an almost tangible companion.

It turned out that it took a long time for a village to die. The weight of all the years of marriages and births and deaths built up a tremendous inertia. Even after the harvests started falling off and the herd's birthings diminished, the memories of past harvests and past herds pushed the villagers on until their hands literally had nothing to do and they stood staring at an empty horizon, wondering if the whole world had died around them.

Baru blinked back tears as he continued sawing on the fire bow. His daughter had died a little more than a year ago. The yotare said it was the cough that had killed her, but there was no doubt that hunger had weakened her so that any slight malignant vapor could overpower her. His wife followed soon afterward, literally. She just got up one day and walked off into the blight. Baru had himself been sick, but when he found the strength to stand, he followed her tracks until the howl of the wolves had driven him back. After that, he just circled around and continued walking. He had stumbled on his own korion by accident days later and found it deserted, the last of his neighbors either dying or following him into oblivion.

When he stumbled upon the border of the blighted lands, he thought he must have fallen dead, unnoticed, and come at last to the green fields of paradise. He found other koria outside the blight, but the people were suspicious and unwelcoming. It seemed other hungry and desperate men had come that way taking food and, sometimes women or children when they could get away with them. Baru found himself lurking at the edge of their fields like a ghost, sneaking up to their houses at night, stealing vegetables right out of the garden or chickens from their coops if he was stealthy enough. He always fled back into the cursed lands where pursuit was short and reluctant.

Then the koria started building walls and food, outside of harvest time, became even scarcer.

Baru carefully pounded his keleos nuts into an oily paste and spread it across a rock heated in his fire. As he waited for the small flat-bread to cook, he looked back at the day bleeding out its last red drop of light on the ragged black edge of the horizon and saw something move. Baru held his breath and considered which way the wind was blowing. There was no breeze in his hollow between the hills and he saw no movement in the spines of the dead plants rising above them. He crept around the hill, his spear lifted high enough to not drag, his dinner forgotten.

He heard quiet movement and a low grumbling and readied his spear, prepared to throw himself as soon as he stole within sit of his prey. Something moved and a silhouette with the sharp upward curving horns of an antelope rose above the hill, standing confidently against the fading glow of light. Baru raised his spear and flung himself forward with a bestial cry. The figure turned and screamed at him, "Asophra!"

Baru's legs nearly gave out beneath him. He stumbled to a halt on the side of the hill. Beneath the horned head spread broad shoulders. A well-muscled arm raised something long and sharp and pointed it at his face. Other shapes moved in to surround him. These were clearly men though their clothes were so ragged that they almost seemed covered in dull furs or downy feathers. The moons chose that moment to rise in the east and the object in the nightmare's hand flashed with a silvery light that danced on the metal tip before his nose.

"Do you hunt the blood of the innocent?" It asked in deep tones as if judgment had come rumbling down from the sacred mountain itself.

"N-n-n-no?"

"Then join me, for we hunt the blood of the guilty."

The men around him howled like beasts. Baru's fear and desperation rose like madness within him. They turned and ran and he ran with them, side by side, spears at the ready, blood pounding eagerly in veins, howling like beasts and seeking the blood of the guilty.

<====|==|====>

Pronos sat in the back corner of the tavern, nursing the third beer of the night, uncertain where the other two had gone. The tavern was noisy, dark and smoke-filled. A group of fishermen were in another corner drinking and singing songs while their neighbors cheered on a pair of men locked in an arm wrestling tournament. Another group played a game that involved tossing coins into a small bowl while standing several paces back from the table. It somehow involved the losers both losing their money and being forced to take drinks. Pronos wasn't sure how that worked.

A serving girl brought by a plate of fried fish. The smell turned his stomach which had gone sour on nothing but beer. Near the fireplace, Tarakae set up his drum on its stand and rumbled out a quick practice rhythm. Heads turned and voices quieted in expectation. Tarakae had performed for days both in the market square and in the taverns. His message was getting out to the poor of the city and he was starting to attract followers. He had been hinting that tonight was going to be an important night.

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom*

"Justice!"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom*

"Fairness!"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom*

"Justice!"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom*

"Fairness!"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom**boom*

"The work-boss lives in a big house!"

*boom* *ba- boom* *ba-boom**boom*

"The laborer lives in a shack!"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom**boom*

"The work-boss wears fine clothes!"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom**boom*

"The laborer wears only rags!"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom**boom*

"What do we seek?"

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom*

"Justice!" The crowd joined in.

*boom* *ba-boom* *ba-boom*

"Fairness!" The shout reverberated in the tavern.

Tarakae had spoken at length of the inequities of the poor making the rich richer while only starving themselves. All those thoughts had been tied up in those two words, justice and fairness. Pronos pondered the unfairness of his empty glass while so many people around him still held beer forgotten in their hands as they chanted along with Tarakae. He wondered if the two words might not be mutually exclusive. If justice meant getting what you deserved and fairness meant treating everyone the same, could there ever arise a case where one had to be unjust—deny someone something they deserved—in order to treat them the same as others? And if someone deserved something, should they be allowed to have it even if it meant treating them differently than others?

A pair of Tarakae's followers brought a large wooden crate and set it by the door. It contained scores of axe-handles and other wooden poles of a convenient club-like length. Tarakae's chanting took on a fevered pitch. He shouted out the words and the crowd roared it back like a single mindless beast. It looked like it was nearly time to visit some justice on some people. Pronos set aside his empty drinking bowl and stood up.

Tarakae headed for the door. The crowd-beast followed, arming itself as it left. Even the tavern keeper and his serving girls got caught up in the madness, following the beast out into the street. Pronos grabbed an unattended jug of beer and trailed along.

It might not be just, but he considered it fair.

Chanting Justice and Fairness, the beast followed Tarakae down the street and up the hill to the rich merchant houses like a parade gone mad. They stopped outside the house of a work-boss named Mimoor and chanted.

"Come out! Come out! Come out!"

"Justice! Justice! Justice!"

They banged on his door and the walls of his house. His neighbors peered at them through shuttered windows, but no one came out to investigate. Some of the larger men from among the protesters began to throw themselves against the door when they found it barred. They stopped as shouts came from within.

"Stand back! Stand back!" came a muffled cry. "I'm opening it. Don't break it down."

The door opened and an enormously fat, outraged man in a velvet robe of deep green trimmed in golden thread, shouted from the opening. "Why are you people here? Go home!"

"Justice! Justice!Justice!" screamed the crowd.

"Huh? What are you saying?"

"Fairness! Fairness! Fairness!"

"People are trying to sleep here! Go home!"

"Justice!" A figure at the front of the crowd grabbed the tacarch by his robe and yanked, flinging him into the street. The robe came open and Mimoor fell naked across the slimy cobbles. The men laughed and spat on him. The work-boss rose with a wordless roar, but someone in the crowd swung his club at his ankles, knocking him off his feet. Mimoor fell with the wet slap of his ample flesh on the cobbles. The men kicked him as he tried to get back up, laughing at his struggles and his squirming.

Men rushed into his house and the crashing sound of falling furniture and splintering wood followed. A group of men raced out carrying a large couch made of rare wood and expensive fabrics. They heaved it into the air and it shattered on the ground next to the tacarch. A few people ran off carrying clothes and other valuables or, in one case, a golden lamp,but most of the group seemed bent on pure destruction.

Pronos lifted his jug and took a thoughtful sip.

Screams echoed inside the house. A large, middle-aged woman, a shorter version of Mimoor, was thrown naked onto the cobbles next to him. She rose, screaming at the men around her and was struck down. She tried to get back up, but one of the laborers knocked her down and struck her repeatedly until she stopped screaming, then he began to rape her there on the street while the crowd cheered and shouted lewd suggestions.

Pronos shook his head. "Justice."

<====|==|====>

Once back in Har-Tor, the knowledge that Nur was attempting to seize the crops of surrounding koria stirred the fighting spirits of the elders. They immediately began arguing amongst themselves as to whether this represented a threat to Har-Tor and the best course of action to take or not take. Karux had to alternately defend himself from charges of fear-mongering and argue against the immediate assault on Nur while convincing them of the need to build up their forces. This required a lot of time and he frequently only saw his students briefly in the morning and sometimes in the evenings.

Harkin found Netac one evening after raiding the kitchens for food to take on a two day trip. "I'm going to do it. I'm going to leave tomorrow for the seat of power."

Netac threw a quick glance over his shoulder and leaned forward. "When?"

"Tomorrow. Right after he gives us our lessons."

"You're assuming he won't be staying with us all day."

Harkin chuckled. "I've already overheard him arguing with the supply stewards. He is insisting they sell more grain to the dwerka for spear heads, but the elders are saying they've already committed those resources for other projects."

"I'll bet he was pretty mad."

"No kidding. He's repeatedly told them that the grain wouldn't exist but for him and has hinted more than once he may just have the tireavs come down and take it for him."

Netac's expression darkened. "It seems he's been making that threat more often. Do you need any help from me?"

"Hopefully not. If he chances to return from the meetings early to check up on us, I may need you to cover for me and tell him I'm sick."

"Hopefully he doesn't try to heal you," Netac said ironically.

Harkin chuckled. They had both endured Karux's attempts to teach them healing by attending to wounded reavers. Karux had told them that wounds were easy and disease was not. Instead they had found diseases were impossible and wounds were next to impossible. Only Corha seemed to have any ability for it.

"Do you know the way?"Netac asked. "Have you a plan to get into the city?"

Harkin nodded. "I'm pretty sure I can find it on my own, but I've heard of a dwerkan trade group leaving N'shia-Potoma tomorrow and heading north. I'm planning to catch them up and travel with them. I'm hoping it will make me less noticeable."

Netac laughed. "Nothing like a tall human hiding amongst a troop of short dwerka."

Harkin felt himself blush. It sounded silly put that way.

"Still, I wish you luck. You may be our only hope for an end to this growing madness."

"You mean the blight."

"Yes, and the desperation it brings out in people. If you fail, I fear there will be another conflict with Nur, and this time I suspect it will be far bloodier than the last."