It was autumn, the first weeks of September. The winds were getting colder and the mead was getting warmer, the cloaks heavier and the people tighter. In the North Empire, everything seemed to be seasonal, like events were placed on a spinning wheel and came about once in the annual cycle. When the wheel spun wrongly, it was the talk of the town. That day, there had been a tiny fluffy outside, and, though no snow had stuck to the ground, people were worried about the last of their crops freezing over. I was a barmaid in the Riverdell Inn, in the town of Wittman's Creek, a community of mostly-farmers, so I knew how anxious everyone was.

Perhaps that was why we were so busy that. As Eorlund, my friend and owner of the Inn, always insisted, people drank more when there was more to drink about. It was true. Every time there was something odd about the weather in the few months I'd been there, people crowded the tavern to drink. Eorlund Winter-Born had lived here all his life, and had run this Inn for nigh on fifty years. He knew. He always knew.

I sighed and looked down at my hands as they poured a mug of beer. The palms were red from washing dishes and carrying firewood. But they had seen worse, and a bit of pre-winter chapping wouldn't hurt them. I scanned my eyes over the scars on my hands, remembering each stroke of a blade, each fall onto stones and marble which I had braced against. The long one on the back of my left hand, from a red-hot poker. Yes, these old hands had seen much worse than dishes.

"Talia, dear," Eorlund called from the kitchen.

"What is it?" I replied, turning around and wiping my hands on my apron. He poked his head around the corner looking confused.

"Where did I put my oven gloves, Talia?" I smiled. He was always forgetting something. It came with the age I suppose. He was, after all, a few winters over seventy by now.

"They are next to the oven, Eorlund. Next to the kettle." He gave me a rumpled look.

"Now, Talia, I think I would have seen them if they were in such a place! Watch, I will look right now, and they will not be there." He turned his head towards the oven, ducking back inside the door frame. When he reappeared, he was embarrassed. "It, err ... Seems to be that they are, indeed, right there." I laughed and turned back to my customers. The door opened and a blast of chilly air hit us. People grumbled and looked up at the newcomer.

He was tall, dressed all in black, with a cloak that hung over him like death and made him seem like a living shadow. His cowl covered his face, making his figure all the more eerie. Everyone in the room thought the same thing; "Weird."

And I heard them, all the thoughts. Ever since I could remember, I could hear what people didn't speak, only chewed over in their heads. Every sullen remark, every dirty comment, and every passing inkling. Nothing escaped me, nothing ever had.

I had been out on the road since I was seventeen, nearly eleven years. I wandered, I taught, I did jobs for people, some of them less than legal. I had been inside the heads of thousands of people. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and everyone in between. I dived into a brain, looked around, got what I needed, and left, all in a few seconds, and all without leaving a trace. I was the world's most efficient blackmailer, ever since the age of four, when I would extort candies from neighbor children by threatening to tell their parents about broken toys and hidden pets. Really, when I thought about it, the only thing that changed in those years was the value of both the broken toy and the candy I received in return.

Of course, I didn't just blackmail people. It was simply a handy capability. No, mostly I dug around inside heads because it was interesting. Through harmless looking I had lived a thousand lives, done nearly everything there was in the world to do. The name my parents gave to me was Talia, and the surname I gave myself Storm-Cloud. But so many names have passed through my head that sometimes I forgot which was which.

A customer spilled his drink and swore loudly. I looked up, snapping back into reality. I noticed the stranger with the cloak had not moved from his table near the door.

"Hey mister," I called at him. "Come have a drink! This is a tavern, not a convent." Drunken guffaws erupted around me and I smiled. I saw a frown form under his dark cowl. I frowned too, wondering what made a man come into a tavern, if not to drink away his coin. I decided to try and hear what he wasn't saying. I tuned out the men around me and reached my mind out to his, looking for a way in.

"Should'a left my wife home ..."

"One more drink ..."

"Damn! Coin's out ..."

Everything faded and became a faint collection of white noise. The tendrils of my mind grew out towards the stranger, getting closer and closer until ...

I felt myself gasp.

Nothing.

His mind was completely blank. Or, at least made to seem that way. My mind recoiled at the barrier that blocked my path. Cool, hard to the touch, like glass on a winter's morning. The longer I touched it the more I wanted to pull away. But I refused, instead pushing and prodding, looking for a weak spot desperately. It felt like hours as I searched his mind's peculiar surface, pressing my subconscious against his until I felt woozy. I sighed dejectedly and retreated, snapping back into my own body. I had to grab the edge of the bar to steady myself. Eorlund slipped past me to give out the free bread that came with dinner.

A wariness grew in me. Never in my years had I ever encountered a man with such power over me. Every now and then there happens to be a wizard or warlock with a bit of psychic training. Those kinds of simple mind tricks are easy to break. I think of them as a wall made out of straw; there are gaps which can be slipped through if one knows where to look. But to completely block me out? Who was this stranger? I looked with a furrowed brow at the frightening being and took my leave into the kitchen.

There was still a lingering chill in my bones from his odd, freezing blockade. I shivered, feeling the heat leech from my flesh. I stood before the oven and let it warm my body. It seeped into my skin and relaxed me. My nerves settled and my mind became a little clearer. Perhaps there was nothing very odd about him after all. Maybe he was simply another magick user that was more advanced than those I'd seen before. Or, could it be that he was another telepath like me? Maybe that was what my mind looked like to him, too. Hell, there had to be more psychics than just me running about. I knew that the Elves had a bit of knowledge of physics, and just because I'd never seen one didn't mean that there were none to be seen.

Yes. That was the answer. Another telepath had wandered into the Riverdell Inn by chance. With my head clearer on my shoulders I stepped back out into the dining room, further convincing myself that this was the case. Still, I thought, he frightened me. Something about him told me he was no good. I scolded myself and looked back at the place he was sitting.

But he wasn't there anymore.

My stomach did a flip and I frantically looked around for him. I nearly vomited as I saw him placing a few coins into Eurrie's hand and going upstairs. I took Eorlund by the arm and led him to a deserted corner.

"Eurrie," I whispered frantically, "who is that man?"

"Oh the quiet one who just rented room eight? He said he's from the capital. Name's ......