The still night air bit coldly into Bishop Welffing's face and the hood of his dark gray robes, damp from the moisture of the swamplands, offered his icy cheeks no protection. The Bishop rubbed his face, trying to massage some heat back into his frosty skin, then tucked his hands back into his sleeves. He fidgeted a bit as he did so and ended up sliding down the left side of his saddle. He shifted uncomfortably on top of his black and white spotted horse and struggled to correct himself, but the horse wasn't really big enough to properly accommodate someone as stocky as Bishop Welffing. No matter how he tried to stay balanced, the Bishop kept sliding to one side or the other. Silently, he appreciated the fact that he rode behind his companions. It would be mortifying if they were watching him in his discomfort, and it was going to take a while for him to get back into the almost comfortable position he had somehow managed to get into earlier that day.

Danny, the Bishop's servant, rode about a foot and a half in front and to the right of the Bishop. He sat comfortably on a small brown mule as the group made their way out of the swamplands they had been crossing. Danny had been orphaned at fours years of age, and the Bishop had adopted him. At the time, Bishop Welffing had convinced his parish members that it was the Lord's divine will that the orphaned children of Onamu be saved, and that adopting the poor orphan would be good for the church's reputation, but he'd actually just wanted a servant. Someone to cater to his whims. Someone to scratch that space on his back that his arms couldn't quite reach.

The other two travelers, Timothy Grug and Wilhelm Zuck, were not servants but mercenaries. They rode their (no doubt stolen) dark stallions side by side about five feet ahead of Danny. The Bishop could tell that they were talking to each other.

When Bishop Welffing had hired the two thugs, they wouldn't even look in each other's direction, but lately, he'd noticed that they had been getting along more and more. For some reason, the good will between the two mercenaries set the Bishop's nerves on edge and made him seriously doubt his decision to make this journey.

This wasn't the first time Bishop Welffing had had reservations about going through with his plans, but each time he started to question himself he would hear the voice of reason in his head. It would tell him how important it was for humanity to gain the ability to use magic, how humans were virtually cripples on the island because they relied on the other races for magical protection. "What would happen," the voice would insist, "if one of the kingdoms allied with Onamu suddenly decided that they had no reason to protect it from magical attack? What if they were the ones that decided to attack Onamu?"

The voice didn't stop there. It would remind Bishop Welffing of the fame and prestige he would receive if he could teach humanity how to harness the power that had been eluding them for so long. He would be a hero, and even the king would be grateful to him. Bishop John Welffing would be the one to help the entire human race to advance. So what if it meant associating with lowlifes for the time being?

The Bishop allowed himself to shrug off the bad feeling he had gotten about Zuck and Grug. He was sure that he would be able to keep them under control for the short time he had left traveling with them. All they had to do was help him break into the ruins of the fortress that guarded what he was after. After that, he'd pay them what he had promised and they would be out of his life.

Bishop Welffing could see the fortress built to guard the volcano. The weather-worn stones of the fortress jutted out in places. The magic "wall" surrounding the volcano was perfectly smooth and slippery, impossible to climb. It kept anyone without access to the gate of the fortress from getting to the actual volcano.

"Stop. We will have to tie the horses here," the Bishop said when he saw that the horses refused to go any further.

Everyone, except the Bishop, dismounted and tethered the horses with pickets. Grug grabbed an ax and a wooden torch from the pack on his horse. Zuck did the same. Danny struggled with his ax and ended up dropping it on the ground. Zuck sneered at him. The Bishop waited atop his steed and cleared his throat impatiently. Danny forgot about the ax for the time being and rushed to help the Bishop dismount.

"I don't see how the brat can help haul that tub o' lard outta his seat and he can't hold up a ax," Zuck whispered to Grug.

Grug kept the same indifferent expression of always and started walking toward the fortress.

Zuck smiled and followed.

Danny tethered the Bishop's horse and gave all of the horses some carrots he'd saved for them from the last village they'd traveled through.

"Thank you, Daniel."

"Hmm?"

"For helping me to dismount."

"Oh. You're welcome, father . . . I mean Eminence."

"Let's go. I don't trust those two alone for too long," the Bishop said.

Danny went back and grabbed his ax. Then, he and Bishop Welffing walked quickly to catch up to the two thugs.

The Bishop was out of breath by the time they caught up to them. The cold air scraped the inside of his throat as he drew each exaggerated breath. He swore inwardly, cursing the fact that he had gotten so out of shape.

Danny would have helped Bishop Welffing along, but the twelve-year-old boy was having a lot of trouble carrying the ax. Luckily for the Bishop, it didn't take too long to reach the fortress.