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was changing.
For the first time in millennia, the Drounge stopped.
The singular tingling sensation now dominated every corner of its being, penetrating to the farthest
reaches of self, replacing eternal agony and perpetual discomfort with something else. This was not a
small thing;not an incident,not an insignificant transient episode. Its very shape was changing, twisting and
buckling with neoteric forces it did not understand. Could not understand, because it had no experience
of them.
With a last convulsive, wrenching sensation of dislocation, the unforeseen metamorphosis achieved final
resolution. The Drounge stood as before, inviolate and untouched. Only, something was different. It took
even the Drounge a moment to realize what that was.
It was no longer in pain.
The absence of agony was so extraordinary a sensation that the Drounge was momentarily paralyzed. It
was all gone, all of it all the suffering, all the disease and decay, all the everlasting affliction that had
combined to comprise its physical and mental existence. In its place was something the Drounge could
not put a name to: a calmness and tranquillity that were shocking in their unfamiliarity. And something
else. For not only had it changed internally, its appearance was radically altered as well. With a new inner
individuality had come a new shell, a fresh and unspoiled outer self, courtesy of the tingling unguent that
had affected a transformation far beyond what even its wielder could have envisioned.
Elation swept through the Drounge at its unexpected epiphany. Never having felt itself trapped, it hardly
knew how to react to being free. Exhilaration was a sensation with which it had never before had to
come to terms. Uncertain, tentative, it could only try.
As the tiny cluster of astonished, fragile creatures it had come close to killing looked on in wonder, the
enormous butterfly that had materialized before their eyes spread six-foot wings of prismatic emerald and
opalescent crimson and rose from the bleached desert floor, haltingly at first but with increasing
confidence, into a cloudless and welcoming clear blue sky.
XX
 Let me have another look at that hand.
Simna wordlessly raised the arm by which he had been attached to the lumbering horror. Rotting flesh
had been miraculously renewed, nerves sutured, skin regrown, the bleeding stopped. With the impossible
butterfly vanishing into the distance and his restored limb hanging healthy and normal from the end of his
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shoulder, his attention kept switching back and forth between wonders.
 By Gravulia, what what was it? he mumbled as his rangy companion critically inspected first palm
and then individual fingers.  One minute I could see it clearly and the next, it wasn t there and something
beautiful was.
Ehomba replied without looking up from his examination.  Disease is like that.
The swordsman blinked. The hallucinatory, spectacular butterfly was gone now, swallowed up by the
sky and imagination, leaving him to contemplate his right hand. Moments ago it had been a putrefying,
decaying ruin. Now it was restored. A small whitish scar, souvenir of a fight in a chieftain s hut on a
distant steppe, had vanished from his index finger together with the more recent corruption.
 So it was a disease of some kind?
 Not a disease. Disease itself, or some pitiful entity that it had become attached to. I am not really sure
what it was, Simna. But there was no mistaking its effects. Even as I ran to help you I felt myself starting
to grow weak and uneasy. If I had not been able to deal with it we might well all have died.
Feeling none too energetic himself after the mephitic encounter, the swordsman sat down on a rock.
Nearby, Hunkapa Aub was studying the increasingly steep slopes that lay before them. The black litah
was sunning itself on the brackish ground.
 The butterfly  Simna looked up sharply.  Hoy, I remember you putting something on my hand! It set
me free.
Ehomba nodded.  A salve prepared for me by Meruba. I was told that it was useful for dealing with cuts
and scrapes, burns and punctures. When I saw what had caught ahold of you it was all I could think of to
use. He gestured downward.  It cured your arm.
Holding his right hand in his left while gently rubbing it, Simna nodded gratefully.  My arm, yes, but that
doesn t explain the butterfly. He shuddered once.  What I saw first, when it was visible to me, was no
butterfly.
 No, the herdsman agreed solemnly. He smiled as he reminisced.  Meruba is known for her salves. It is
said that, if applied in sufficient strength, they can cure anything. I used all that she gave me. Turning his
head, his braids bouncing slightly against his neck, he gazed thoughtfully at the northern horizon.
 Whatever it was that had hold of you, I think we healed it.
 Should ve killed it, the swordsman grumbled. Releasing his hand, he started to shake it sharply.
 Hurt? Ehomba looked suddenly concerned.
 Hoy, it throbs like my head the morning after a three-day binge! But it s nothing I can t handle,
bruther. Rising from his seat, he straightened his pack on his back. Some of the straps had become
loosened while he was being dragged along by the revolting apparition.  It s too damn hot here. He
nodded briskly in the direction of the foothills and the rocky crags they fronted.  Let s find ourselves
some cool shade and fresh water.
The ascent into the Curridgian Mountains proved arduous, but less so than their trek into the Hrugars.
Deep gorges allowed them to avoid the need to scale the highest peaks, providing a natural approach to
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the towering escarpment. Where there was snow there was runoff, and the same canyons that guided
them westward soon boasted of swiftly running streams and even small rivers. Ehomba was grateful they
would not have to worry any longer about water. As they climbed higher the air grew cooler. The awful
heat of the Tortured Lands receded until it was no more than a disagreeable memory.
Pines and redwoods, firs and kauris soon replaced weedy grasses and small-leaved brush, until they
once again found themselves traipsing through forest. Ehomba and Simna were rejuvenated by the fresh
air and increased humidity, while Ahlitah was largely indifferent. But Hunkapa Aub was positively
exhilarated. Of them all, he, with his heavy, shaggy coat, had suffered the most by far from the unrelenting
heat they had left behind and below.
He even welcomed the mist that settled in around them as they climbed a slope luxuriant with
wildflowers, their petals splashed with extravagant shades of scarlet and teal and lemon yellow. As the
moist haze thickened, the blossoms took on an air of unreality, their variegated faces staring brazenly at
the shrouded sun, kaleidoscopic denizens of a languid dream.
Soon the mist had congealed to the point where even the black litah was hard pressed to espy a route
upward, and they were reduced to following the stream that had cut the canyon. Though the humid air
was still temperate and the climbing not difficult, Ehomba found himself glancing around apprehensively.
Noting his friend s unease, Simna edged close.
 Hoy, long bruther, something s troubling you. The swordsman strove, without much success, to
penetrate the haze.  You see something?
 No, it is not that, Simna. As the herdsman licked his lips he tried not to suck in any of the prevailing
moisture.  I was I am trying to remember something. Raising a hand, he gestured imprecisely.  It is
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