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"Are you sure?" asked the king before he moved from her side. "Did the Talent consume you?"

"I am positive," declared the wisper, "and no, the Talent did not consume me. How do you feel, Prince Antion?"

"The headache is as I expected," he answered. "There is no doubt in my mind that it is the same feeling that I felt in Borunda. I now know that they were indeed causing my problems, but I still do not know why. Why me?"

"I may be able to shed some light on that now," the wisper replied. "My collapse was not the Talent consuming me as some of you asked. It doesn't work that way. With the Talent one is consumed little by little, not all at once. There is no cataclysmic change. The changes happen over time, and they are subtle. What caused my collapse was a shock I received. You, Prince Antion, are filled with the Talent. I have never seen anything like it."

"Me?” questioned the prince. "You must be mistaken. I have no ability with the Talent."

"That is not exactly what I meant," clarified the wisper. "I do not think you are a wielder of the Talent, although you could be I guess, but the Talent is within you."

"What does that mean?" asked the king.

"I really don't know," answered Lady Nola, "but it explains their interest in you. They sensed that you are filled with the Talent, and they see that as a threat to their plans."

"Then they will want to destroy him," surmised General Fergus. "That is why they had to be sure of his identity. We have a very serious problem on our hands, King Caedmon. No matter how many soldiers we have, there is no way that we can guarantee protection for Prince Antion unless we lock him in the palace. They will send assassin after assassin until they succeed."

"That is not going to happen," declared the prince. "I would rather stand and fight them one-by-one than live in a prison for the rest of my life. I will not do it."

"And no one will ask you to," the king said softly. "I thank you all for coming on short notice. What has been mentioned in this room will not be repeated. This meeting is ended."

Lady Nolan and the advisors filed out of the room leaving King Caedmon alone with his son. The king walked over to Antion and embraced him. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

"What am I to do, Father?" Prince Antion finally asked. "I cannot live the life of a convict, but neither can I allow my existence to bring trouble to Arin's doorstep."

"General Fergus is correct," the king said softly. "I would give my life to protect you, but even that would not be enough. If what Lady Nola said about the Talent consuming wielders is true, the Borundans will never give up trying to kill you. They won't be able to stop even if they wanted to. The Talent will demand that they continue."

"Why me?" Prince Antion shook his head.

"I believe there is a reason for it," King Caedmon replied. "I will not pretend to know what that reason is, but I do believe that you have been chosen for a specific reason. I want to believe that the Talent is using you to counteract the evil that is brewing in Borunda. Perhaps that is why they are so eager to get at you."

"Of course," brightened Prince Antion. "Lady Nola may not know the answer, and we may not know the answer, but the Borundans know. They see me as an obstacle to their plans, so that is what I must become."

"And how are you going to do that?" inquired the king.

"I have no idea," admitted the prince. "I imagine the first step should be to find someone who understands the Talent better than Lady Nola. Perhaps there I will find the answers that I need."

"An acceptable plan," the king nodded approvingly. "Where will you start looking? I could round up everyone with knowledge of the Talent in all of Arin."

"No, Father," the prince shook his head. "I cannot let my enemies know that I have stumbled onto the reason for their interest. If just one of those people speaks about my interest, they will learn of it in Tarent."

"Then how can you ever approach anyone who knows about the Talent?" questioned King Caedmon.

"I will have to become someone else," declared Prince Antion. "I will change my appearance and my clothes. I am sorry, Father, but I will have to forsake my given name."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Son," the king replied with tears welling up in his eyes. "You have always been my greatest accomplishment, and I could not be prouder of you than I am today. I will speak to Evan and arrange to have gold deposited around the world for you. What name will you be using?"

"No, Father," the prince shook his head. "I will take some gold with me, but that is all. I will not reveal my name or my destination. That spell that was used upon me is one that reaches into your head and steals your thoughts. It is safer for all of us if I keep my thoughts to myself."

"How will you survive?" frowned the king.

"I am not without skills," smiled Prince Antion. "You have brought up a decent son, not a pampered boy who cannot take care of himself. I will be fine."

"If anyone can make it on his own in this world," smiled the king, "I believe it is you. You tell me what you need, and I will see that it is supplied."

"My needs will be simple," replied the prince, "a horse, a weapon, and a bag of gold."

"You shall have the finest of them all," agreed the king.

"No," the prince shook his head. "I will take what is mediocre and normal."

"And when will you go?" asked the king.

"Tonight," answered Antion. "Too many people in Anatar will recognize me if I leave during the daylight, and there is no sense in delaying my departure. If I falter now, I may not summon up the courage again in the morning."

"Will you say goodbye to your mother and sister?" asked King Caedmon.

Prince Antion stared at the floor for several moments without answering. The king could see the emotions tearing apart his son and tears came unbidden to his eyes.

"I shall dine with the family," declared the prince. "Afterwards I will express my undying love to mother and sister, but I will leave it to you to explain my absence tomorrow. I do not feel good about saddling you with this burden, but I do not think I could bear their protestations to remain in Anatar. I am sorry, Father."

"Never say those words again," the tearful king commanded. "You are embarking on the greatest act of self-sacrifice that I have ever witnessed. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Never say those words again to me."

Prince Antion hugged his father tightly, and tears fell from the eyes of both men.

As promised, Prince Antion spent dinner with his family. He deflected all talk about the trip to Tarent and instead focused the conversation on what the women had done while they were away. When the dinner was complete, Antion requested a private audience with his sister and then his mother. They both knew that something was afoot, but they both sensed that the time to discuss it was long past. As the rest of the royal family made for their beds, Antion slipped out of the palace and mounted a randomly chosen horse from the stables. He rode around the city for an hour making sure that no one was following him and then he exited the city along the coast.

Capri was a small nation on the Koar-Anatar Road. Its stretch of seacoast was among the most beautiful in all of the Land of the Nine Kingdoms. Long, sandy beaches paralleled the road in some places, while dense strands of pine forested other sections. There was no major city in the small country, but three towns of decent size rested among the palm trees of the coast. The three towns were gathering places for Capri merchants in between their long journeys around the world. It was in these towns that wagons were overhauled, teams of horses bought and sold, and warriors hired to escort the wagons.

Goodland was the westernmost of the three towns, and it sat on the edge of a pristine bay where the coast came close to the Koar-Anatar Road. It was a mere day's ride from the Arin capital of Anatar, but it was worlds apart in atmosphere. There were no protective walls in Goodland, nor was there any form of authority. What did exist in Goodland were many large stables, craftsmen galore, and a dozen inns and taverns. It was at the dingy taverns where those looking for work gathered to meet prospective employers.

Prince Antion rode into Goodland sporting a three-day growth of hair on his face. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, but not torn or worn out. He looked very much like a man whose money had run out, but only a short time ago. His body was firm and muscular, and the set of his jaw held an attitude that showed he was not yet ready to admit defeat. His eyes constantly moved ahead of him as well as to his sides and portrayed a man who was wary of his surroundings, but not afraid of them. In fact, he looked just like most of the men who rode into Goodland in search of work.

All of the taverns in Goodland were located near the town's major intersection where a broad avenue ran from the beach and crossed the Koar-Anatar Road. A dozen wagons sat unmoving in the middle of the broad avenue, and the Arin prince knew that the masters of those wagons were looking for workers. He dismounted and tied his horse outside the largest tavern and walked through the doors.

The sound and smell of the inside of the tavern assaulted the prince as he paused briefly inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The tavern smelled strongly of stale ale, and the floor was sticky enough to make walking a conscious effort. Several dozen men were inside the tavern, and they all seemed to be competing to be the loudest talker in the room. The din was deafening, and Antion tried to tune it out. His eyes swept over the room looking for a seat where he could avoid conversation. Spying a seat at the far side of the room, the Arin prince made his way past the crowded tables and slid along the bench to end up in the corner farthest from the door.

While he was waiting for the serving woman to take his order, another man slid in beside him. Antion's hand immediately felt for the small pouch of copper coins tied at his waist. It was a reaction that Antion had practiced continually over the last three days since his departure from the palace in Anatar. It was meant to reinforce the image of a man who was conscious of his last few coins, when in fact the small pouch was merely for show. Antion's much larger pouch with gold coins was securely hidden under his clothes.

"Easy, friend," smiled the newcomer. "I'm not so bad off that I would resort to taking a man's meager belongings. The name is Babul. Let me buy you a drink."

"Well met, Babul," nodded Antion, "but I've a few coins left. Still, I appreciate the offer. My name is Gunnar."

"Welcome to Goodland, Gunnar," smiled Babul. "Where are you from?"

The serving woman appeared and Babul ordered two mugs of ale.

"Up north," Gunnar replied vaguely. "How did you know that I was new to Goodland?"

"I saw you ride in," answered the man. "Have you come looking for work?"

"I have," nodded Gunnar. "Do you know of anyone hiring?"

"You're new to Capri then, too," laughed Babul. "You haven't done this before have you?"

"No," Gunnar replied, worried that he was not truly prepared to blend in. "Tell me what I need to know."

The man stared at Gunnar for a few moments without answering. The serving woman sped by dropping two mugs of ale on the table and scooping up the copper coins.

"You're honest," smiled Babul. "Quiet, but honest. That's more than most men who come in here can say. First off, never bother to ask another worker if he knows of anyone who is hiring. That type of information is worth money. It is never given away for free."

"I didn't know," apologized Gunnar.

"That much I understand," chuckled Babul. "There are always less jobs than workers in Capri, and getting a job is competitive, and I mean very competitive. Let me explain what is going to happen soon."

"I am appreciative," nodded Gunnar, "and I insist on buying your next ale."

"Deal," grinned Babul. "I think I might like you, Gunnar from up north. In a short while a bell will ring loudly outside. That bell will indicate that the merchants are prepared to hire. Be careful when you get up to exit the tavern. It will be a stampede. I am not sure why," he laughed, "because nothing starts until everyone is outside."

"So all of these men are looking for work?" Gunnar asked with disappointment clearly evident in his voice.

"Yup," nodded Babul. "The merchants will take turns offering jobs. Almost all of the jobs will be for wagon escorts, but occasionally there are other types. The merchant will state the wages and the route the merchant will be taking. Those that want to apply for the job cross the street and wait."

"Wait?" questioned Gunnar. "If only one of them is to get the job, what are they waiting for?"

"The contest," answered Babul with a twinkle in his eye. "While a merchant could merely choose one of the workers to hire, they seldom know the quality of the men applying for work, so a contest is held. Pairs of men will square off with staffs and fight for the job. The winners of one group will fight the winners of another group until one man wins it all. The merchant usually offers the job to the winner, but he does not have to. He is free to choose anyone he wants."

"So all of these men are going to fight for the few jobs available?" questioned Gunnar.

"That happens every day here," nodded Babul. "Are you sure you still want a job? Sometimes it is easier and safer to become a bandit."

"I must have a job," Gunnar said with determination. "I would never become a bandit and take what rightfully belongs to others."

"A man who thinks he knows right from wrong," chuckled Babul. "There are not many of you left. This is your first day in Goodland. We will see how you feel in a few week's time."

Gunnar finished his ale and placed two copper coins on the table for the next round, but just then a loud bell rang outside. The whole room of men immediately swung into action and raced for the door. Gunnar sat and watched with distaste. He saw men intentionally tripping others and other men kicked those who had fallen. Babul rose and scooped up the copper coins.

"It never hurts if your potential opponent is already wounded when the fighting starts," he laughed. "Good luck, Gunnar from up north."

As almost an afterthought, Babul tossed one of the copper coins back on the table and strode across the room. Gunnar scooped up the coin and made his way outside. The street was crowded and all attention was focused on a finely dressed merchant standing in the middle of the street.

"I have need of two warriors," shouted the merchant. "The route is from Koar to Laborg and back for two silver a day. One of the applicants must be able to cook decently or both will be replaced before Koar. Who wants the jobs?"

The crowd swarmed across the street with only Gunnar and Babul still standing outside the tavern.

"I thought you wanted a job?" questioned Babul.

"I want to see how this works first," replied Gunnar. "Why are you not across the street?"

"I can't cook," laughed Babul, "and I won't waste my time fighting for a job hoping the other winner can cook."

Three-dozen men squared off in pairs, grabbing crudely made staffs that were leaning against the wall of an inn. The fighting began almost immediately. Some of the matches were so uneven that they were over almost as soon as they started, but most were interesting bouts to watch. There were almost as many styles of fighting as there were men, and Gunnar found himself focusing on the best of the fighters.

Gunnar was well trained in the use of a staff, as he was with all weapons, but he was not sure he wanted to display that skill just yet. His desire was to secure a job with as little notice as possible. He also wanted to avoid any routes that took him to Tarent. He also needed to stay out of Anatar at least until his beard grew in. Until his change in appearance took hold, he could not afford to be noticed.

"There are a few nasty fighters among those men," commented Babul. "Are you sure you wish to do this?"

"I must," Gunnar nodded distractedly.

"It's your pretty face," Babul shrugged.

Gunnar ignored Babul and concentrated on the fighting. Eventually the two winners threw down their staffs and approached the merchant. The job seekers all trudged back across the street and crowded in front of the tavern. Within minutes the merchant and his new warriors were gone and the next merchant stepped into the middle of the street. The merchant was an older man with hair turning from gray to white, and his clothing much more modest than the other merchants. He wore a simple gray robe belted tightly about his waist.

"I need four warriors," the merchant announced, "and the jobs pay two silver a day. These are jobs for the entire season. We will be making continuous runs between Koar and Tarent until the weather turns cold. Who wants the jobs?"

Again Gunnar watched from across the street as the fighting commenced. The third merchant announced a run from Anatar to Kyland and back, and Gunnar also sat that one out. The standard rate appeared to be two silvers a day and everyone fought for the jobs. No one seemed to care where the wagons went as long as they could secure a job.

The fourth and fifth merchants were also going to Tarent, and Gunnar began to feel as if he would not get a job after all. He would have to find something else to do while he waited for his beard to grow in.

"I need only one warrior," the sixth merchant announced. "The route is Koar to Caxon through Oran and then Kyland to Anatar. The job pays one silver a day. Who wants the job?"

Some of the job seekers booed the merchant and others laughed at his meager offer, but eight men crossed the street. Gunnar was one of them.

Gunnar's first opponent was a heavyset man, and he held the staff as if he was going to beat a rug. Gunnar had seen the man fight before, and his skill was not impressive, although his strength was. There was more than one job seeker watching that had a knot on the side of his head from opposing the big man. Gunnar did not intend to be another one of them.

The big man came out swinging, and Gunnar dodged the swing. He moved swiftly to pass behind the big man, shoving his staff into the man's back as he passed. The brute roared and turned around, his staff swinging with him. Gunnar ducked under the swing and immediately slammed his staff onto the man's hands. The big man's staff fell to the ground. Gunnar immediately raised his staff over his head and threatened to bring it down the moment the big man bent over to pick up his staff. The big man stared coldly at Gunnar for a long time and spat in his direction before turning and walking away.

Gunnar's next opponent was a tall wiry man who seemed full of energy. The man's feet were always moving, even when he was standing still. Gunnar stood unmoving, allowing his opponent the opening move. The wiry man came dancing towards Gunnar, his eyes fixed on Gunnar's hands to see how he would try to defend. The prince remained unmoving, his eyes focused on the other man's feet. When he saw his opponent's feet brace for the swing, Gunnar dropped to a crouch and swung his staff hard in an arc parallel to the ground. A loud crack split the air as the staff connected with the wiry man's ankles. The thin man fell to the ground, screaming in agony. Gunnar rushed over to the man and knelt beside him.

"My ankle is broken," bellowed the thin man.

"I am sorry," Gunnar apologized. "I meant only to trip you up. Let me help you up. I will find you a healer."

"Leave him be," a gruff voice declared as the old merchant knelt next to Gunnar. "I will tend to him."

Gunnar watched as the old man's hands felt the ankle. The wiry man yelped twice as the merchant worked, but he said nothing else.

"Your ankle is not broken," declared the merchant, "but you should stay off of it for a day or two. Your opponent will carry you over to the inn so you may rest."

The merchant rose and indicated for Gunnar to pick up the man. Gunnar did so, and the merchant led them into the inn and haggled with the innkeeper over the price of a room. Gunnar followed the innkeeper up the stairs and deposited the man onto the bed and left. When he returned outside, his final opponent was waiting for him.

"There is no need for further fighting," announced the merchant. "I have chosen to hire this man," he said pointing to Gunnar.

"I haven't had the chance to fight him," shouted the remaining opponent, a sturdy man with a scarred face. "I demand my chance to beat him."

"The decision has been made," the merchant said, waving the sturdy man away.

The opponent stormed towards Gunnar and shoved a staff into his hands. He then picked up another from the ground.

"You had better hold off on your decision old man," snarled the sturdy man, "because pretty boy is going to be unable to ride with you."

As the merchant turned around, the prince's opponent charged Gunnar. Gunnar moved his feet apart and gripped his staff as the man raced towards him. The attacker shoved the end of the staff towards Gunnar's face, but the prince quickly moved his staff and shoved it aside. The sturdy man immediately whirled in a circle bringing the staff around in a powerful arc behind him. Gunnar did not wait for the man to complete his movement. He shoved his staff between the man's legs near the knees and allowed the man to tangle himself up. The opponent tumbled to the ground, and Gunnar's staff was ripped from his hand and cracked as the man fell onto it. Gunnar dove over the man in a roll and snared the man's staff from his hands. He came to his feet and placed the tip of the staff on the sturdy man's throat.