Chapter 11

           Arthaswaspushinghismentoohardandheknewit,buttimewasapreciousresourceandcouldnotbesquandered.HefeltatugofguiltwhenhesawJainachewingonsomedriedmeatastheyrode.TheLightrefreshedhimwhenheworkedwithit;magidrewondifferentenergies,andheknewthatJainawasexhaustedafterthesuperbeffortshehadputforthearlier.Buttherewasnotimeforrest,notwhenthousandsoflivesdependedupontheiractions.

           He’dbeensentonamissiontofindoutwhatwasgoingonandstopit.Themysterywasstartingtounravel,buthewasbeginningtodoubthisabilitytohalttheplague.Nothingwasaseasyasithadlookedatfirst.Still,Arthaswouldnotgiveup.Couldnotgiveup.Hehadvowedtodowhateverittooktostopthis,tosavehispeople,andsohewould.

           TheysawandsmelledthesmokerisingintheskybeforetheyreachedthegatesofAndorhal.Arthashopedthatifthetownhadburned,thenmaybeatleastthegrainhadbeendestroyedaswell,andthenfeltatwingeofguiltatthecallousnessofthethought.Heburieditinaction,kickinghismounthardandridingthroughthegates,expectingtobeassaultedatanymoment.

           Aroundthembuildingsburned,blacksmokestinginghiseyesandmakinghimcough.Throughtear-filledeyeshepeeredaround.Therewerenovillagers,butneitherwerethereanyundead.Whatwas—

           "Ibelieveyouhavecomelookingforme,children,"cameasmoothvoice.