The Swordsman's Oath

Taken from the Library of the Caladhrian Parliament,

being a true copy of the letter sent to the Lord of each fiefdom

by Eglin, Baron Shalehall,

later First Preceptor of the Parliament,

generally dated to the 7th year of the Chaos.

I write this appeal in the hope that Caladhria may be saved from the calamities that beset our poor land on every side. Daily I hear the lamentations of the hungry, the despair of the beaten and the grief of the dispossessed; I can bear it no longer. Saedrin sees the woes of the common people and remembers, just as we take their fealty, so we take on an obligation to defend them against such misery; I have no doubt that he will ask some hard questions before some of us are allowed to enter the Otherworld. Yet all I hear from my peers are fruitless hand-wringing and divisive argument about which pattern of governance we should copy from those around us.

There are those who would step back a generation and set up an Emperor or King, but what would that achieve? How is such a man to be chosen? What qualities would we seek in a man to be entrusted with so much power? I for one, fear the shades of my forefathers would petition Arimelin to plague my dreams with demons, were I to deliberately submit to a tyranny that they struggled so long and hard to throw off. Are we perhaps to ape the self-proclaimed Dukes of Lescar and let the strongest seize what they may until no one dare challenge them? Their Graces’ wealth and fine palaces may look very well now the grass has grown over the battlefields, but let us not forget they established themselves in a manner little different from bandits laying claim to a forest hideout. They work hand in bloody hand to carve up the bounty of Lescar like poachers portioning out a stricken doe. I hear you ask me; are we then left only with the prospect of the division and strife that plagues Ensaimin? Will our sons and daughters life only to see our beloved land disintegrate into a patchwork of petty kinglets and greedy cities, squabbling among themselves like a litter of starving mongrels? By Misaen’s hammer, I will not have it so and I call on all honest men to help me.

Why are we looking beyond our borders for an answer? Let us look to ourselves, to the wisdom of our ancestors. Before Correl the so-called Peacemaker sent his cohorts to trample our land beneath the nailed tread of Tormalin rule, we were a peaceful and decently governed people. Our forefathers knew the dangers of placing too much power in the hands of one or even a few men and ruled themselves, fairly, through the Spearmote. All men of property could speak, all men of goodwill could work together for the common good. No tyrant, great or small, could hope to stifle the liberties that are all men’s birthright, that our fathers won anew for us when they threw off the rusted iron hand of the House of Nemith. We have managed to restore much that was lost to us. Let us come together once more in the Spearmote and take charge of our own destiny.

On the River Road, heading south, Lord Adrin’s Fiefdom, Caladhria, 12th of Aft-Spring

Livak turned up in the morning as Shiv and I were discussing our route and Halice was harnessing the horse in the gig, ignoring Viltred’s peremptory instructions. It was a bright morning, fine high cloud in a clear blue sky.

“What have you got there?” she demanded without preamble.

“Itineraries.” If she didn’t want to discuss her decisions, neither did I. Finding the volume that showed the closest stages of the River Road, I unfolded the long sections of map.

“They’re not Rationalist drawn, are they?” she challenged, “You’ll soon get lost if they are. All the distance and detail will be twisted to fit their notions of order and balance, you do know that?”

“No, they’re fine.” I wasn’t about to rise to this lure, pointing to an area marked with a stand of thick-branched trees. “What do you know about this place, Prosain Heath?”

Livak looked over my arm. “It’s where Lord Adrin’s lands meet the territories of these other Lords, Thevice and Dardier; they manage the forest between them as a hunting preserve.”

I tapped the river. “This looks a bit too close for my liking.”

Shiv nodded. “Cover for deer and boar will do fine for Lescari runaways as well, won’t it? There probably won’t be any trouble but we might as well join a larger group, if we can.”

“It’s been a long, hard winter,” I agreed.

Livak pointed to a blue circle at the side of the road. “That’s a good place to stop and water the beasts; people tend to gather there before crossing the Heath.”

“I wonder if we might get some scent of the Elietimm there?” I wondered aloud.

“It’s a thought,” Shiv nodded. “They should be easy enough to trace; they’ll stick out like the stones on a stag hound in Caladhria.”

Livak shifted next to me. “Tell me, Shiv, do Caladhrians think it’s just unlucky to go beyond the district where you’re kin to at least half the population, or is it actually considered immoral?”

“Oh, both,” Shiv assured her cheerfully.

Livak sniffed but I saw a faint smile tease the corner of her lips. “Wizards travel in style, do they?” She stared disparagingly at the neat little vehicle. “Where did you get this?”

“Short Merrick,” Halice slapped the harness horse on the rump and climbed awkwardly up on the seat.

“So what was he doing with it? It doesn’t look as if he’s been using it to haul turnips.”

“It seems his late wife was from Abray, where the roads are rather better and she’d learned ambitions beyond her husband’s station in life,” Halice said dryly. I was relieved to see her and Livak share a tentative grin.

“It’s pretty gimcrack work,” Livak sniffed, picking at a piece of loose inlay.

“And who are you to say so?” Viltred looked down at Livak with patent irritation.

“A wagon is joinery, mage, only with wheels on it. I grew up polishing the most expensive furniture in Vanam and that makes me the best judge of woodwork you’ll find around here.” Livak set her hands on her hips and cocked her head back to stare boldly up at him.

“You’ll be riding Viltred’s horse, then, Livak,” Shiv said hurriedly. “Come on, the weather’s holding and we should make the high road by noon if we set off now.”

Halice soon had her hands full with the harness horse, which had evidently recovered from whatever it had been fed to sweeten its mood. Viltred proved not to have much of a sense of humor about nearly getting tipped into the hedge and to start we rode largely in silence. As the morning wore on, Halice got the measure of the beast and, to my relief, some conversation started. I was not looking forward to riding three hundred leagues with four people who weren’t talking to each other, and I was missing Aiten yet again.

“It’ll be a relief to get on to a decent highway,” I commented to Livak as we negotiated a particularly soggy slough under a canopy of early leaves.

“I’ll say,” she agreed, coaxing her mount around the puddles. “Anyone who let his trees overgrow the road like this back home would be paying the Merchants’ Conclave a hefty fine.”

With trade the life blood of Vanam and the other great city states of Ensaimin, that was hardly surprising. Still, she had a point; Messire D’Olbriot has a Highway Reeve who spends six seasons out of the eight criss-crossing his lands and making sure repairs are made to the roads, but Caladhrian Lords don’t seem to see their responsibilities in the same way, flapping their lips in that Parliament of theirs like blackfishers drying their wings on the quay side. On the other hand they’re quick enough to agree things like this new hearth tax of theirs, another way to plunder the peasantry and keep their ladies in satins.

“Shiv tells me it’s considered quite respectable for Caladhrian ladies to pay social calls in an ox-cart, the local tracks can be so bad.” I shook my head, still not quite sure if he had been tugging my hood with that one.

Livak smiled fleetingly. “Still, I do like to see trees left to grow tall, not always coppiced and confined.”

I nodded and wondered if that was a reflection of her Forest blood. It was always going to be an issue between us, one way or another, wasn’t it? It may be an old joke but, from everything I’ve seen, it’s undeniably true that the only way to get a Forest dweller stopped in one place is to nail his foot to the floor. The Great Forest may be clean across on the far side of the Old Empire, separating the western reaches of Ensaimin from the kingdom of Solura, but Forest minstrels have always been a common enough sight in Formalin. Few other people would travel that distance simply out of curiosity and wanderlust.

I remembered what she had told me the previous year, before questions of loyalty and independence had divided us. Livak’s father had been one of the Forest Folk, seducing her housemaid mother when the Western Road through Ensaimin brought him to the great city of Vanam. From what I had gathered he had stayed around while Livak was small, long enough to teach her more of her heritage than she seemed to realize through the songs of their race that would sing her to sleep. He had given up the struggle in her middle childhood though, leaving her mother with only the child as a reminder of the bitter loss of her lover, facing the derision of her family alone. It was no wonder that Livak had a jaundiced view of family life.

On reflection, Livak’s refusal to spend the Solstice with me had probably been for the best. Persuading my mother to calm down after hearing a highly edited version of our little excursion the previous year had been hard enough. I don’t really think it would have been the ideal time to introduce her to a lover dressed in my spare jerkin and breeches, with a past that defied polite description. Mother still hopes that one of us will bring home a gently reared girl, with her own embroidery on her skirts and suitably long plaits for Drianon’s altar. That’s fine by me, as long as it’s one of my brothers who does the honors. Hansey or Ridner can lay their mallets and chisels aside for long enough, if Mistal’s too busy with his studies.

“I have business of my own in Relshaz, you know,” said Livak abruptly, some while later. “If Shiv’s managed to talk Halice into his schemes, I might as well travel that far with you all. As you say, the roads can be risky on your own.”

This was none too convincing coming from a woman who’d left home barely out of girlhood with no more than the clothes on her back.

“What business, exactly?” I inquired, tone mildly interested. I hoped it wasn’t anything too dishonest. There were aspects of Livak’s livelihood that sat ill with my conscience.

“There’s a man called Arle Cordainer,” Livak’s eyes were distant and cold.

“What’s he to you?”

“He owes me,” replied Livak crisply. “He’s a deception man, one of the best because he makes sure he’s set someone else up in line for the pillory or the gallows if things go wrong. The four of us nearly ended up swinging for him in Selerima a year or so ago; he couldn’t have dropped us in more shit if he’d left us neck deep in a privy-pit.”

“You think you’ll find him in Relshaz?”

“I saw him on the River Road just after Equinox.” Livak’s face was intent. “He was all dressed up like a Formalin silk trader and wearing a full beard, but I never forget a pair of hands or ears.”

I nodded encouragingly and wondered if this Cordainer knew Raeponin was about to demand a reckoning from him to balance the ledgers of justice.

“I will come as far as Relshaz with you,” continued Livak briskly. “I want to make sure Shiv does right by Halice, if nothing else. I still don’t trust wizards, say what you like.”

Now we were getting to the truth of her change of heart, I decided.

“If we get a scent of these Ice Island thieves, I’ll do what I can to get Viltred’s treasures back, just as long as I’m sure it’s worth the risk. If the wizards owe me for that, they can pay the debt by straightening Halice’s leg.” Livak scowled at the pair of mages ahead of us but the anger in her eyes shaded to hurt when she gazed at Halice’s back. “That should settle any accounts between her and me. Shiv gets one draw of the runes and that’s it, though. If there’s any hint of the kind of trouble we were landed in last time, I’ll be out of there faster than a cat caught at the cream pan.”

“I’ll probably be two steps behind you.” I nodded again and ventured a warm smile, which Livak returned, albeit with a sardonic glint in her eye.

“Saedrin’s stones!” Halice’s inventive curses told us the gig had caught a wheel in a boggy rut.

“How’s the horse?” Shiv asked Livak when we had the vehicle back on decent ground.

“Fine.” She dimpled a smile at him. “But riding something suitable for Viltred was hardly going to be a challenge, was it?”

“I was a notable horseman in my youth, young lady—” Viltred began, stirring himself like an old mouser poked by an impudent kitling.

“We’ll hit the high road about noon, won’t we?” I spoke over the old mage, looking back at Shiv, who was taking a turn at the rear. Livak flashed Viltred a taunting smile and urged the horse to a canter.

“That’s right.” He glanced from Livak’s disappearing back to Viltred with an expression of faint exasperation. As we rode on, he kicked his horse up to a trot and drew alongside me.

“Can’t you get Livak to stop baiting Viltred?” he asked in a low tone.

I shrugged. “I’ll mention it but as long as he keeps taking the worm she’ll keep dangling it, until something more amusing comes along anyway. You could suggest he stops treating her like a maidservant turned out for flirting with the bootboy; that might help.”

Shiv muttered something under his breath that I decided to ignore. The gig slowed as the road wound up a long incline and we found ourselves walking, hearing Viltred’s attempts to find out more about Halice. Since she answered most of his questions with one word, two at most, he grew increasingly irritated and his enquiries eventually moved from the impertinent to the downright offensive.

“I would have expected a woman of your age to have settled, with children.” Viltred slid a glance sideways to see Halice’s reaction. “In my day it was considered unlucky for a girl to pass her generation-festival unwed.”

“I’m going by Soluran generations,” Halice said unexpectedly. “That’s thirty-three years, not the Formalin calendar’s twenty-five. I’ve got another two before I need worry.”

That silenced Viltred and I shared a grin with Shiv. I wondered if I could persuade my mother to do the same; with her fiftieth year looming, she’s desperate for a grandchild.

Viltred took a while to recover from that thrust but after a while began regaling anyone close enough with increasingly tedious stories of his youth, tossing around names that were evidently supposed to impress with all the subtlety of a plow-boy stoning crows.

“Who’s Felmath of Broad Aile?” I muttered to Shiv.

“No idea,” he shook his head.

I frowned. “I know that one, Lord Watrel, but his wife’s called Milar; Abrine was his mother.”

I’d spoken loudly enough to attract Viltred’s attention.

“You are a sworn man to Messire D’Olbriot, are you not?” The old mage was adopting an increasingly lordly manner himself. “You must pass on my compliments to his lovely wife, Maitresse Corian. I had the pleasure of making her acquaintance some years ago.”

I didn’t know quite how to answer that since the lady in question has been ashes in her urn some nineteen years. Luckily, Viltred seemed more interested in displaying his noble contacts than getting any response.

“Yes, we met when I was the guest of Sulielle, Duchess of Parnilesse. She’s a very gracious lady, you know, elegant and a wonderful hostess.”

Halice reached out with her whip to get the carriage horse’s attention. “Dowager Duchess, you mean.”

“Pardon?” Viltred was visibly displeased to be interrupted.

“The Duchess is Lifinal, Duke Morlin’s wife. Sulielle lives on her dower lands in Tharborne.”

“You seem very well informed,” Viltred began.

“I spent three years commanding the Duchess of Marlier’s personal guard,” Halice said crisply and snapped the lash over the horse’s neck. I couldn’t say whether it was her remark or the sudden jolt of trotting that silenced Viltred but I, for one, was grateful that he gave up on his efforts to impress. I hoped the pace of this pursuit picked up soon; so far, it was about as interesting as escorting Messire’s maiden aunts on their annual circuit of the family estates to give them the opportunity of telling the minor ladies of the Name how best to rear their children.

Once we reached the high road we made better speed and reached the little lake I had marked in mid-afternoon. After seeing to my horse, I helped Viltred down from the gig before finding my sword and buckling it on; I hadn’t bothered with it since leaving Lescar but if there was a chance of trouble on this Heath I would be ready. Looking round for the others in the various travelers thronging the banks, I saw Shiv was deep in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. I moved closer, though not near enough to break into their conversation in case Shiv was about to learn anything of use to us.

“Ryshad!” Shiv waved to me and I made a show of just noticing him. “This is Nyle. He’s a guard captain for that merchant train over there; they’re heading south.”

The stranger nodded a brief greeting. “We’re carrying goods for Sershan and Sons, down from Duryea to Relshaz, finished woollens and ceramics.”

Misaen’s supposed to have built the first men out of clay and this looked like one of the forge god’s earlier attempts. He did have a neck, but at first sight Nyle’s shoulders seemed to start just below his ears and he’d fill more than his fair share of any room. He was a few fingers taller even than me but so heavily muscled that you would think of him as stocky rather than tall if you saw him from a distance. His eyes had the hard alertness of a hunting dog, an impression strengthened by his square jaw and slablike jowls as well as his rough, brindled hair.

“How long will you take to cross the Heath?” Shiv continued.

“We’ll reach the Spread Eagle at South Varis the day after tomorrow. We’ll rest the animals there and then head on.” He cocked his head in Shiv’s direction. “Take it from me, you don’t want to be crossing the Heath on your own.”

“Not at this time of year,” Shiv agreed.

“Pay the mule-master, a Mark a head.” Nyle turned to move toward the next group of travelers where I heard him repeat his offer of protection.

Wagon trains cost coin while they’re traveling and they only make it when they arrive and sell their wares, so the mule-master was soon getting his charges into line after their water stop, forty or more beasts making their handlers work hard for their bread.

“Nyle said we should go between the mules and the wagons since the gig’s got smaller wheels.” Shiv rode up on his black horse, which nearly unseated him as the mule train drew out in a clamor of reluctant braying and men cursing.

We moved off, with eight assorted vehicles joining the muletrain’s handful of wagons. Viltred was soon giving us all the benefit of his age and wisdom again.

“Lord Adrin should put some of those mendicant Lescari to breaking rocks for road-mending instead of adding more plow-spans to his rent-rolls,” he grumbled as we left the farmland and entered the fringes of the Heath proper, where the road soon deteriorated again.

The scrubby bushes gradually gave way to bigger trees tinged with spring green above carpets of bright flowers. The mossy scent of springquills rose about us, their color reflecting the blue sky up above the lace of twigs and new leaves while the creamy frills of Larasion’s lace were starting to show among the wayside grasses. We travelled without incident but the road forced us to single file for the most part. I soon found my mind wandering with boredom.

“Ryshad?”

My horse shied and I snatched at the reins, startled.

“Dast’s teeth, Livak! What are you doing?”

“I was trying to stop you cracking your head open by falling off your horse asleep,” she replied a touch acidly.

I scrubbed a glove over my face. “Sorry?”

Odd fragments of what must have been half a dream hovered around my head, something about a pursuit over sweeping grasslands. Wasn’t Arimelin satisfied enough with ruining my nights, that the goddess had to start me dreaming during the day? I must have dozed off for a breath or so, something I couldn’t ever recall doing on a horse before, but then I couldn’t remember being quite so weary, not recently anyway. I wondered uneasily if all this difficulty in sleeping meant I was sickening for something. A series of shouts was handed back along the muletrain, scattering my confused thoughts. I realized we were stopping to make camp and saw that Nyle had fixed on a large grassy clearing, evidently well known to him. As Halice turned the gig off the main track, I could see the guards fanning out to hack down the early undergrowth all around. Muleteers were fixing picket lines for their beasts and fencing them in with thorn brush. As we headed for a comfortable spot, the wagons and carts drew in to form a defensive ring, canvases soon laced securely.

Nyle came over and spoke to Shiv while we were making our own little camp inside the circle.

“I want everyone to water their animals by that stand of withys.” He gestured toward a brook on the far side of the clearing. “Use that gully over there for a latrine.”

I wondered why his eyes kept straying to me, even though he was talking to Shiv and I was curious enough to mention it to Livak as we circled the clearing later collecting firewood.

She shrugged. “I don’t think he wants your body; he hardly looks the type to drink out of both sides of the cup. I think you’re seeing Eldritch-men in the shadows. You’re just overtired.”

I didn’t pursue it but I still felt uneasy as I peered into the gathering gloom under the trees.

“Does anyone think there’s much risk of trouble?” I asked the others as we sat down to eat.

“They’d have to attack in some strength to have a chance against a camp this size.” Halice scanned the area thoughtfully. “It depends how hard the winter has been around here.”

“According to one of the muleteers, the local Lords usually send their foresters in to clear as many vagabonds out as they can before the does start dropping their fawns, but we’re a bit early for that,” Shiv said, his words muffled by the chicken leg he was chewing. “Nyle’s not taking any chances, he’s setting a full watch, look.”

We saw to the animals, decided who would sleep where and watched the guards earning their coin with patrols around the edge of the clearing as the night closed in around the circle of campfires.

“I do like seeing sentries being set, knowing I won’t have to take a duty,” Halice smiled broadly as she rolled herself in her blankets.

Shiv was already snoring musically and Livak was yawning as she lingered over the last of her wine. I rolled my cloak for a pillow, tucked my blankets around myself and closed my eyes, half listening to the murmur of voices around the larger fires. A couple of verses of that Dalasorian song listing all the different boys trying to get under a virgin’s blanket drifted over to us, occasionally lost in a burst of laughter from a friendly game of runes. The rich scent of wood smoke mingled with the moist breath of the awakening woodland and I drifted off to sleep, vaguely hoping Livak wouldn’t be tempted to join in any of the gambling.

I was ripped from my slumbers by urgent shouts that my sleep-numbed brain could make no sense of. Halfway to my feet before my mind caught up with my body, I stared bemusedly at the black-haired stranger in front of me. His pale blue eyes were wide in his narrow-jawed face and he held out an urgent hand to haul me upright, a sapphire ring catching the firelight. I reached out but must have misjudged the distance, my fingers closing on empty air. He shouted at me again but I could barely make out what he was saying; it sounded like Formalin but no dialect I had ever heard.

A yell behind me spun me around and I saw three ragged and filthy figures scrambling out from under the nearest wagon, notched harvest tools and rusty swords questing before them, eyes bright with greed and faces bitter with hardship. I could smell their stench mingled with raw spirits and chewing weeds. Well, I’d soon take the wind out of their sails. I’d met worse than them in the rougher parts of Gidesta.

As I drew my sword and moved to drive the scoundrels off, I spared a fleeting glance around me. Shiv was moving to the center of the clearing, concentrating on weaving a dim tangle of light between his fingers, head turning this way and that as he looked for a chance to help. I couldn’t see Viltred but assumed he was somewhere close to Shiv, probably with the small group of women and children huddling together by the main fire-pit. A sudden lattice of sapphire magelight sprang up around the vulnerable ones, startling the guards who’d hung back to defend them.

Halice had already moved to our far side where two startled guards were being pressed back by a larger group of bandits rising up from the cover of the stream bed. The black-haired stranger must have wakened her first, not knowing about her leg. Wet and desperate, the vagrants hacked blindly as they fought for the food and coin they coveted. They were a sorry-looking lot, gaunt and filthy, many with old injuries or disease, but there was no pity in their stained blades, only death in their eyes. I looked for the stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A rat-faced man in muddy rags came at me, swinging a nail-studded club in a flurry of ill-judged blows until I dropped him with a scything stroke to his thighs. As he fell, he tripped the youth behind him who took the opportunity to cut and run. The third was made of sterner stuff, or was just more desperate; he came on with jabs of a once fine blade that looked as if he’d been using it to cut firewood. I feinted to his side, parried, feinted again; as he reached out, too far, I smashed the small bones of his hand with a hacking down stroke. If he’d kept the sense Misaen made him he’d have run but he had to try again, sweeping the sword around in his off hand, agony twisting the lines and filth of his face. I brought my own blade up and ended his problems with a cut to the side of the head that took off his ear and dropped him in his tracks. I jumped sideways as I thought I saw a shadow at my shoulder, but to my relief there was no one there, just a trick of the uncertain light, with the greater moon barely at half and the lesser all but dark. Still, it was an unwelcome reminder of how naked my flank felt, without Aiten’s strong sword arm and burly frame to support me.

A sudden blow from behind sent me sprawling into a cart and I scrambled away from the slashing hooves of a loose horse, snapped halter dangling as it dashed, panicked, from the sound of battle and the sickly smell of blood. Curses rose from the picket lines as the muleteers struggled to restrain their beasts as terror spread like sparks from wildfire. The high-pitched whinnying of the mules and the wails of a frightened child spiraled upwards to pierce the night sky.

“Aid here!” Halice’s yell tore through the uproar of the fight and I looked out to see she was facing two men on her own. The other guards were unable to help as they held back attackers intent on a gap where they had dragged a wagon askew. Halice’s crippled leg was tying her to the spot as surely as a man-trap; unable to move freely, her shirt was already torn over a bloody scrape on her off-side arm. Cursing freely, I began forcing my way through the melee.

Before I reached her, I saw a bright knife slice through the canvas cover of a wagon and caught a glimpse of auburn hair in the firelight. A stunted youth hanging back and jeering at Halice got a thrown dagger among the boils on his neck, fair payment I think. He dropped with a choking cry as foam filled his nose and mouth, his head jerking back in uncontrollable spasm, his cry lost in the din of the fight. Livak dropped from the cart to drive a second blade into the kidneys of a brutish heap of filth whose heavy hedging-blade was hacking at Halice’s defenses. He clapped a hand to his side, mouth open in soundless surprise as much as anguish before the venom forced his face into a frozen snarl. Halice left him to the poison, taking her chance to drive her sword up into the face of his startled partner, who went down in a splutter of blood and shattered teeth to gut himself on his own skinning knife.

A couple more hard-faced guards came up from behind me and charged into the suddenly hesitant attackers waiting on the edge of the firelight. I dodged past them and grabbed Halice around the waist, hauling her out of the fray. She cursed, startled.

“Stuff it, Halice, let him help.” Livak came with us, tense and alert, her face turned to the dark and the danger, a dagger glistening with oily smears held well clear of her body.

I dragged Halice bodily backward; hopping to stay upright, she swore at me with all the fluency of a long-time soldier.

“I was wondering where you’d got to,” I said to Livak with some difficulty.

She shook her head in disgust. “When did you last get into a fight in Caladhria? All my poisons were in the bottom of my belt pouch, double-sealed with wax and lead!”

“Are you hurt?” I looked around to find Shiv at my shoulder.

“What have you been doing? How about some useful magic for a change?” Livak spat at him.

“Just who do you suggest I immolate?” he snapped back and I saw a measure of my own frustration with the two women reflected in his eyes.

I paused to let Halice regain her balance and the three of us looked around to see the guards driving off three different attacks.

“I don’t know who we’re traveling with—how am I supposed to tell friends from foes?” Shiv turned on the spot with a sharp gesture; with the flickering half-light and dodging shadows thrown by the ring of fires, I had to agree with him.

“To me!” Nyle’s bellow would have put a rutting bull to shame and I saw his square head leading the guards as a last desperate rush by the bandits threatened to break through the cordon at the final gap still under attack.

1 sprinted across the grass, dodging loose animals and panicked merchants. A ragged wretch with raw sores running down his arms dashed out from under a cart and nearly tripped me with a rusty scythe but, before I could deal with him, a spear of blue fire dropped him to the ground, face blackened and hair smoking. I waved my gratitude to Shiv without looking back and stepped in to hold the line when a merchant stumbled back, clutching at a bloody gash in his guts.

I could see Nyle sweeping a massive blade around in a deadly arc, wrists rolling in a two-handed Dalasorian grip. Blood sprayed across him as the shining steel ripped up under an opponent’s chin and carried off half his face, but Nyle didn’t even blink. Eyes white-rimmed as he poured his fury into his sword strokes, he lunged into a gap and dropped another bandit into a howling welter of blood and entrails. The stupid bastard evidently had some training in swordplay, but it betrayed him now he had no militia armor to save his guts. Nyle pressed forward with each hint of advantage, nailed boots secure on the slippery ground, kicking aside anyone unable to regain their feet. Fighting shoulder to shoulder put heart into all of us and we formed a wedge behind Nyle’s cutting edge. We began to mesh with the instinctive moves common to most militias and started to force the bandits back to the stream.

A long-faced man with a cattle thief’s brand twisting down his cheek came at me. He parried one stroke, then another, but an old Formalin move that I’d been practicing all winter sent his notched sword twisting up out of his grip; I got him between the neck and the shoulder. That broke the nerve of the vagabond next to him and, as he ran, the courage born of drink and desperation deserted the rest. Their line collapsed like a child’s game of sixpins, those too slow on the uptake paying for it as they were cut down trying to turn and flee. The faster ones made for the shelter of the stream bed, but as they reached it a flare of magelight drove the night out from under the trees. Yells of panic mingled with derisive laughter from the guards who had pursued them and odd, cracking noises snapped out along with the screams of dying men. I stood for a moment then turned back to my own companions. I wasn’t going to risk myself unnecessarily; the men getting paid for it could do that. My responsibility ended with driving the bandits away, I judged.

“Come on, come on.” Halice was calming our horses with soft words and dried apple while Livak was rummaging in the gig for something to clean her daggers with.

“You know, Ryshad, I’ve heard of Arimelin sending people off walking in their sleep but I didn’t know she could make them fight.” Her green eyes were wide in the firelight.

“What do you mean?”

“How did you know they were coming?” Halice looked over, now dealing efficiently with her own wound, her teeth holding one end of a bandage as she knotted it tight. She spat a fragment of lint from her mouth. “What were you saying when you woke me, my Formalin’s not that good in the middle of the night?”

I blinked but Shiv arrived at my shoulder and interrupted before I could ask what the two of them were going on about.

“That should save the Lords’ foresters a task.” He was looking extremely pleased with himself, brushing what looked like frost from his gloves though he had blood oozing from a long gash in his forearm.

Halice rolled back his sleeve and stripped the shirt from the wound with impersonal strokes of her belt knife. “This needs stitches,” she warned briskly and turned to the gig.

“Saedrin’s stones!”

I had my dagger out within half a breath as Halice started backward, but it was only Viltred, unwrapping himself from his enveloping cloak like a tiggy-hog unrolling its spines.

“Have you been there all the time?” I asked incredulously.

“I am no warrior,” he said with threadbare dignity. “I thought it best to stay out of the way so I made myself invisible.”

No one could find a reply to that, so I turned to Shiv as Halice held a curved needle in the flame of a brand from the fire.

“What did you do, exactly?”

“Most of them tried to leave along the stream bed, I’m not sure why. Anyway, I froze the water, which held them pretty much fast for Nyle and his men.”

Shiv’s laugh caught on a gasp of sudden pain and Livak passed him a flask.

“What’s that?” asked Halice.

“White brandy. I picked it up in the last camp, but we never got around to drinking it.” Livak looked under her lashes at me. “I got a set of the latest engravings about the Duke of Triolle’s love life, as well.”

Those promised to be ripely entertaining, if not downright obscene. I looked over toward the trees, the darkness hiding the carnage beneath them. I couldn’t decide if I liked the idea of trapping men like that, to be killed like snared vermin. I shook it off. Dead is dead and Shiv had probably saved a few of the guards from injury or worse.

“Do you know these stars?” I asked Livak. “What would you say the time is?”

She looked up. “Halcarion’s crown’s just beyond zenith so it won’t be long until dawn at this season.”

I wondered if Poldrion would charge the dead bandits more or less for their ferry fare on account of them striking on his side of midnight. Halice soon finished with Shiv’s arm and made a neat job of it.

“I’ve seen worse stitching by Messire’s surgeon,” I commented. “Not many soldiers learn that kind of skill.”

“I grew up five days’ walk from the arse end of nowhere,” she said in a matter of fact tone. “I learned to turn my hand to most things before my tenth year.”

The beasts were still refusing to settle with the reek of fresh death all around and everyone turned to trying to restore some sort of order. I opted for helping drag the nearest corpses outside the ring of wagons. It wasn’t a pleasant task, but a dead robber can’t do you harm whereas a nervous horse stamping on your foot can ruin a good few days, a lesson I learned good and early in Messire’s service.

I looked the bodies over, just in case any of them had the flaxen hair of the Elietimm, but I saw none. I didn’t bother looking any closer; these men had drawn their runes and would have to put up with the spread they threw the same as the rest of us. The only one to give me pause for thought was a scrawny boy I rolled over to get a better grip on his tattered jerkin. He had long lost half a hand and most of the meat of his arm, probably to a beast-trap, the sort farmers set along a wildwood margin for wolves and the like. If he’d had a livelihood, he would have lost it along with his fingers. Whatever his tale—thief or peasant, vicious or honest—someone’s sword had sung the last verse when it ripped into his ribs, chips of bone gleaming white among the ruin of his gaping chest as I dragged him over the blood-soaked ground. Stupid bastard.

I looked over toward Halice, who was kneeling awkwardly with her twisted leg. She would never sink so far as this lad, not with Livak and her other friends to keep her afloat, but the life she’d known and relished was over and I saw the realization plain in her face. In some ways she was as finished as the poor bastard with his guts trailing over the ground as I rolled him down a slope to lie in a tangle of dead limbs with the others. No wonder she was desperate enough to take up with a wizard’s quest.

“Let’s have some of that.” I came back to the fire and reached for the brandy. Taking a deep breath to get the smell of blood and voided bowels out of my nostrils, I coughed as the liquor caught at the back of my throat. We passed the flask around until barely a finger of spirit sloshed in the bottom.

“This wasn’t a way I’d choose to drink four Crowns’ worth of finest white brandy,” Livak observed as she took a swig.

“I’m glad you’ve got it.” Shiv was cradling his arm against his chest but the liquor seemed to be dulling the pain well enough.

“It’s not as if I’d paid for it, anyway,” Livak said generously.

“We don’t seem to be too popular,” Viltred remarked with some amusement, eyes bright in his lined face as he passed me the bottle.

I followed his gaze and saw the merchants who had been sleeping closest to us were now all on the far side of their fire, doing their best to edge a few arm spans further off still. Shiv in particular was receiving suspicious glances as the two burly men wrapped themselves in their cloaks and prepared to spend what was left of the night dozing on the seat of their cart.

I couldn’t blame them; seeing that real magic works to kill and to help others to kill is a real shock, there’s no denying it. We don’t have much time for mages in Formalin, but you’ll find philtre-merchants and palmists in any sizeable village, and a fair few are genuine. I could remember a girl in the next street who left our little dame-school to study with the mage in the larger half of the city, on the gulf side of the isthmus. Pretty well everyone knows someone who had a friend or relation whose fishing instincts or touch with a garden turned out to be mage-born. It’s just that you don’t imagine you’ll see them sending lightning shooting from their fingers to leave a bandit crisped like a baked fish. Still, that was Shiv’s problem, not mine, for the moment anyway. I yawned, wrapped myself in my cloak and settled down to get my share of what little sleep was still on offer.

A spacious Formalin steading, set among gardens on a grassy hillside

Temar watched with gathering irritation as yet another drove of rack-ribbed cattle were herded, lowing and snorting, into the holding pens. Shouts came from a group of men hastily lashing hurdles together to make yet more enclosures as some of the beasts threatened to stray and wreck their day’s work.

“Where will I find Esquire Lachald?” a swarthy drover addressed Temar with scant courtesy.

“In the house,” Temar replied shortly. “No, wait, I’ll show you myself.”

It was time he had words with Lachald, he decided abruptly, time he made it quite clear what the Sieur had in mind when he wrote the instructions Temar had brought. He strode through the home gardens and shoved through the gate into the grassed courtyard, the shorter drover having to hurry to keep up with Temar’s long-legged strides. Giving vent to his irritation, Temar flung open one of the doors in the long, single-story building that enclosed the lawn on all sides.

“Can I help you?” Lachald looked up from his desk, all but hidden by parchments covered in figures, amendments, crossings-out and notes. His thick fingers were ink-stained and his sparse blond hair unkempt.

“Respects, your honor.” The drover gave Temar an uncertain glance but carried on. “We’ve brought in the herds from the western grass, so that should make the last of the cattle. The sheep weren’t far behind us; they should be here within the chime, two at most.”

“Thank you, Rhun.” Lachald dug among his parchments and forced a note into a cramped margin. “Go and get yourselves a meal. Oh, tell the steward to open a cask of wine for you all; there’s no point hauling it back to Formalin if we can drink it here, is there?”

“Obliged, your honor.” Rhun ducked his head and then hurried out, glad to escape Temar’s palpable irritation.

“Is this important, Esquire?” Lachald did not look up from mending the nib of his quill. “I am rather busy.”

“Why are we delaying while the herders bring in yet another bunch of scrawny cows and some mangy sheep?” Temar did not bother to temper his exasperation. “I told you that horses should be the priority; they’re far more valuable to the Sieur. We should have left days ago.”

“The Sieur has ordered me to withdraw his chattels and tenants from this reach of Dalasor in the best order I may.” Lachald rested his hand on a parchment that Temar could see bore his grandfather’s personal seal. “I am not about to sacrifice the futures of those families who have loyally worked this holding, some for generations, just to satisfy your desire for quick coin.”

“Coin is what the Sieur has need of,” Temar snapped angrily.

Lachald consulted the parchment before answering. “He has explained his wish to finance a part in a new colony venture and I have every confidence in his judgment. However, my task is to make sure everyone who leaves here does so with as much of their property as possible, and that every beast that can be found is taken.”

“What is the point of rounding up winter-starved cattle that will eat as tough as boot soles?”

“They can be fattened on the grazing around the Great West Road.” Lachald bent over his writing, as if the conversation were concluded.

“That means they won’t be selling until Aft-Summer.” Temar slammed his hands down on the table and leaned forward, eyes hard and ominous. He stared down at Lachald who remained impassive. “Den Fellaemion wants to sail no later than the turn of Aft-Spring and we’ll need the full season to make ready if we’re to join him.”

“Let Messire Den Fellaemion sail when he will.” The steel hidden in Lachald’s bulk rang in his voice. “The proceeds from the sale of those cattle will be used to help settle and support the tenants this side of the ocean. The Sieur’s concern that none be left destitute is quite clear.”

“They won’t be left destitute; they can come with me to the new colony! If we ever get a vessel bought and fitted, that is,” Temar said scornfully. “Which is why we need to concentrate on recovering only those things of value that can be turned rapidly into coin: stud animals, horses for the Cohorts, wine and spirits mature enough to sell. We need to move fast and we won’t be doing that if we’re stopped every half-league by a milch cow dropping a calf!”

“And what of those whom the Sieur is forcing to leave, who don’t wish to risk the open ocean in a quest for an untamed land, full of Talagrin only knows what dangers?” Lachald’s voice betrayed an edge of weary irritation now. “Are they to be discarded here along with the broken pots from the kitchens?”

“If they want to stay when every sensible House is drawing back from Dalasor, let them. There’ll be no Formalin presence this side of the Astmarsh within five years, anyway.”

“How is that relevant, exactly?”

Temar stared at Lachald for a long moment then turned on his heel, striding for the door.

“You know, Esquire D’Alsennin, if you are to make anything like a worthy Sieur of our House, you really are going to have to learn how to deal better with folk.” Lachald leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, a sardonic expression on his fat face.

Temar half turned, mouth open, surprise fleeting across his face a breath ahead of real wrath.

“I was sent here with a task to do and you are—” Temar was shouting now but Lachald remained unmoved, seated behind his desk.

“Oh, do shut up!” he countered with a full-throated bellow that easily drowned out Temar’s intemperate accusations.

The younger man fumed, unable to decide between further argument or the satisfaction of slamming the door behind him.

“Have a glass of wine and we can discuss our options like sensible men,” Lachald commanded acidly. He rose and turned to a shelf, extracting a flask of wine and two glasses from behind a set of ledgers.

“Rielle thinks I’m drinking too much during the day,” he explained as he offered Temar one of the crude greenish beakers. “She will insist on sending over small-beer when I ring for refreshment. Sit down, won’t you?”

Temar hesitated for a breath then took the wine and found a stool under a pile of ledgers.

“That’s better.” Lachald took a long drink and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing, smudges of tiredness gray beneath his lashes. “I know it’s the saddle horses, the bulls, the rams and so on that will make the Crowns to buy your ship and supply her. I wish you all the best and we’ll burn some incense to Dastennin when you sail.” He raised his drink to Temar in a toast and the youth took a reluctant sip from his still full glass.

“So why aren’t we—” Temar began, but Lachald spoke on over him, his tone commanding attention.

“In the meantime, I have to look at the whole game, see where all the runes are going to fall. I’m not expecting you to wait for the cattle droves and the ox-carts, not once we’re past the Astmarsh. You can cream off the best and welcome, once we’re under the protection of the cohorts again, but until then we’ll need to keep together or one attack from the plainsmen could cut us to pieces. I’ll also be cursed if I’m going to leave anything behind that those dog-lovers can use against any of the other settlements around here. If I didn’t think it would be bad for morale, I’d fire the buildings as we leave tomorrow!”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Temar demanded, undaunted.

“Why didn’t you ask?” Lachald shot back, dark eyes challenging. “Why didn’t you do me the courtesy of assuming I know my business after managing these ranges for the Sieur for close on a generation?”

“My apologies, Esquire,” Temar said stiffly.

“My pardon, Esquire,” Lachald responded with ironic formality.

Temar drained his glass and placed it carefully on the edge of the desk. “I will see you at dinner,” he said crisply.

Lachald watched the young man leave, shook his head with a mixture of exasperation and amusement and then applied himself to the seemingly endless lists that this departure was generating.

Temar hesitated in the colonnade outside the office door. The sounds of disgruntled cattle and overworked men lifted over the stone tiles of the low roofs. He looked at the rope burn across one palm and the bruises on both arms and decided he’d done as much rough laboring to safeguard his House’s prosperity as it was reasonable to expect in one day.

The sun was dipping below the main dwelling as Temar walked across the grass toward it; he looked up at the gilded clouds, dragged across the deepening blue of the evening sky by the ever present winds, of Dalasor. Snapping a twig from a feverfeather growing in one of the urns along the colonnade, he paused to breathe in the sharp scent as he bruised the leaves. Temar closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to think of his mother, who always favored the herb in her tisanes. Her wedding at the Winter Solstice seemed to be the last time he could remember being free of apprehension and aggravation over Den Fellaemion’s expedition.

He went into the entrance hall and his steps echoed against the bare walls. The intricate hangings that once displayed the quality of the wool raised here were already packed and stowed on one of the ox-carts. Sounds of activity could be heard all around and Temar hoped a little guiltily that he hadn’t stopped work with the stock just to end up moving the last of the furniture. A maid appeared from one of the anterooms and bobbed a quick curtsey, almost as surprised to see Temar as he was to see her.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled as she passed with an armful of books and a traveling writing desk that Temar recognized as belonging to Rielle. They must be finally clearing the private apartments, he concluded. A thought struck him and he sniffed, turning his head toward the kitchen wing. There was no savor of dinner on the air, he realized gloomily; the clatter of pans and stoneware must be the last packing up of the kitchen. At this rate they were going to be leaving with more wagons than an Imperial Progress.

He returned to the colonnade and walked swiftly around to the shrine, closing the door behind him. The two statues stared at him with impassive marble patience, challenging him. Temar pulled up a chair and sat, looking thoughtfully at the half-size figures.

Talagrin was not a god he was used to worshipping; the favor of the lord of wild places seemed a little irrelevant when you lived in one of the biggest cities in Formalin. Temar felt a sudden qualm; would the god have heard his half-meant irreverence? Talagrin’s good will would be worth having once he was trying to carve a colony out of a wilderness, no argument there. Temar opened the drawer in the plinth beneath the figure, which was draped in the fluidly carved skin of a long-forgotten predator, and took out a stick of incense. It was stickily fresh and he saw recent ashes in the offertory bowl before the god; he was evidently not the only one looking for divine protection against the perils of journeys ahead. He snapped flint and steel against a twist of dry wool and lit the incense. Waiting for a moment he breathed in the fragrant smoke, feeling it loosen the tension behind his eyes that had been threatening to break into a headache for most of the day.

Larasion regarded him over her mingled armful of flowers, fruit and bare branches as Temar prepared a second offering. He had made enough of these in his time, he thought with a rueful smile, asking for fair weather when he reckoned he was in with a chance of spending a chime in the long grass with some pretty girl, beseeching cold winds and rain when one of those hopeful maidens wanted him to join some family celebration, to be presented for parental inspection. That was all very well but rain in due season and sun to bring a fruitful harvest was going to mean the success or failure of Den Fellaemion’s colony, not just profit and loss in the D’Alsennin ledgers. Temar lit the incense with a sober expression and looked at the sternly beautiful face of the goddess, hoping she would understand his unspoken pleas.

The door opened and a small, pointed face framed in gold braids peeped round.

“Oh, Temar, don’t let me interrupt your devotions.”

“No, Daria, it’s all right, come in.” Temar rose and the girl entered, bringing with her a blend of scents that made a heady mixture with the incense. She seated herself with practiced grace.

“Aunt Rielle has had me at work all day in the stillroom.” Daria fanned herself with an elegantly manicured hand, now somewhat stained. “Halcarion only knows how I’ll get my fingers clean.”

She proffered some minor blemishes for Temar’s inspection, resting her hand in his for a breath longer than was strictly necessary.

“I thought I would find some peace and quiet in here, maybe avoid being given another job for a little while,” she confessed with a mischievous glance from beneath her darkened lashes.

“You and me both,” Temar replied with accomplished charm. Daria had been sent to spend a couple of seasons up here after some escapade at Solstice, he recalled. There had been talk of a coppersmith or similar; certainly she’d over-stepped the boundaries most good families expected of their daughters.

Daria yawned and stretched her arms above her head, the loose sleeves of her gown falling back to reveal tempting, milky skin. She reminded Temar of a pale-gold lapcat his mother had once had, all coquettish affection. He wondered how Daria would respond to a little stroking.

“I’m hungry,” she complained abruptly. “No one seems to have done anything about dinner, did you know that?”

“Why don’t I fetch us some bread and meat and we can find a quiet corner to eat in, just the two of us?” Temar leaned forward and was rewarded with a stirring glimpse of the downy swell of Dana’s breasts.

She smiled pertly at him, her eyes knowing. “I’ll find some wine; no one’s going to miss a flask or so in all this confusion. Meet me by the kitchen-garden gate.”

Temar spared the statues a glance as he followed Daria out. He smiled suddenly; whatever Talagrin or Larasion might be thinking, Halcarion was certainly smiling on him.

As a result Temar was feeling refreshed and even cheerful as he sat watching the wagons roll out in the early light of the following dawn. The herds had already moved on, plumes of dust rising in the cold air to mark the trail south.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Lachald was clutching a list awkwardly along with his reins, a charcoal smear on the side of his head showing he was stowing his marker behind his ear again.

“All done.” Rielle walked briskly to her carriage, having supervised the stowing of the effigies from the shrine. A tall, spare woman with an angular face, she took no nonsense from anyone, from the Emperor down, some said. It had come as no small surprise to Temar to hear her insist that the statues must be the very last thing to leave the villa, to avert ill luck. As a lackey opened the carriage door, Temar caught a glimpse of Daria looking distinctly disgruntled. To his relief her expression cleared when she saw him and she gave him a private, conspiratorial smile. He would hate to think their dealings the night before hadn’t been satisfactory. It was a shame she wouldn’t make a suitable wife, he mused. She certainly had the charm a Sieur needed in his lady but Temar didn’t fancy being married to a girl with such a welcoming attitude.

A horn blew close by, startling his horse, and Temar was very nearly unseated. The wagons got slowly under way, the lowing of reluctant oxen mingling with the stubborn creaks of wood and leather, settling into a low rumble as the line of carts moved off down the track. Temar looked around for his scouts and nodded to Rhun, whom he’d marked down as a useful man, his lack of formality not withstanding. Rhun raised a pennant on a lance, settling it firmly in his stirrup. Temar kicked his horse on and cantered down the line, a contingent growing behind him as those previously nominated as guards left their families and goods behind. He led them to a little rise, where they paused to watch the carts winding on through the vastness of the grasslands.

“I don’t expect we’ll have any real trouble but it will pay to stay alert,” Temar began.

“What about the plainsmen?” one of the younger lads asked nervously. Temar saw concern darken the eyes of several others.

“The last true plainsmen were driven out by the Cohorts more than twenty generations ago,” Temar said firmly, frowning as a few skeptical murmurs came from the rear ranks. He raised his voice slightly. “There are raiders, certainly, preying on decent, hard-working stockmen like yourselves, and they are taking every advantage of departures like ours, so you all need to keep a good watch. I don’t suppose they’ll have any more courage than four-legged carrion hounds, so if we make sure they see we’re ready to defend our own, I imagine they’ll scurry back to their dens, tails between their legs.”

That got something like a laugh, at least, and Temar briskly allocated each man a partner and a watch-roster. Luckily he’d woken for a trip to the privy in the night and remembered he still needed to draw this up, hurriedly finding a lamp and parchment and doing his best to recall the orders Lachald had posted, looking to put the men near their own kin and belongings to keep them that little bit more vigilant. He grinned to himself; the lamplight had roused Daria and she’d welcomed him back to the warmth of the bed with a rekindled fire of her own.

His good humor evaporated as he heard one of the lads behind him talking to his mate in an undertone.

“It’s all very well saying the true plainsmen are dead and gone but I’ve heard tell that some of them can come back from the Otherworld; Eldritch-men, they’re called, they step out of the shadows and shoot you full of them little copper arrows.”

Temar rounded on the pimply stripling. “What nonsense are you peddling? I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go and tell your tales to the children around the fire tonight and see if you can’t start a real panic for the women to cope with? Who’s your mother? I’ll wager she’d stripe your arse for you if she heard you talking such rubbish.”

The lad flushed scarlet as his mates laughed, perhaps a little forcedly but loudly enough to satisfy Temar that the boy wouldn’t risk further ridicule with such tales.

“Get to it,” Temar ordered and he watched with satisfaction as the men dispersed, some a little awkward, unused to riding with a sword at their belt and all scanning the sweeping plains with intense eyes.

“Let’s scout ahead,” he commanded, spurring his mount to a rapid canter. Rhun followed, managing the pennant and the reins with enviable ease. Temar led them away from the main track, to avoid the dust and dung the herds were creating. Rhun dipped the scarlet fluttering above them, an answering flash of red showing that the herd guards were staying alert.

Temar surveyed the horizon and frowned as an unnatural shape caught his eye in the featureless expanse of the plains. “That plains ring’s the only cover for leagues around here, let’s make sure no one’s using it.”

He didn’t wait for Rhun to answer but dug in his heels, relishing the excuse for a gallop. His incautious impulse had faded somewhat by the time they reached the earthwork. He reined in some distance away, circling carefully, keeping a distance that would allow him escape if by some remote chance raiders were indeed lurking inside the grassy walls.

“No one here,” Rhun said confidently. “Not recently, anyway.”

Temar frowned as a gust of wind brought him the odor of old fire, or something like it. “Let’s check inside.”

He moved his horse to the opening in the leeward side of the rampart and drew his sword before entering. As they expected, there were no waiting raiders, nor little men using the shadows to come back from the Otherworld, Temar smiled to himself. There was a dark scar on the close-cropped turf, though, and Temar dismounted to examine it, picking a shard of blackened bone out of the ashes.

“It’s the old way of cooking a beast, the plainsman way,” Rhun said unexpectedly.

“Explain.” Temar looked up, curious.

“You strip the bones, empty the stomach and put the meat in it, make a fire out of the bones and cook the meat by hanging the stomach above it.”

Temar looked at the short and stocky herder, dark-skinned and black-haired. He also recalled the journal he’d once read; the recollections of a young D’Alsennin who’d served with the cohorts during the conquest of Dalasor and his descriptions of the area’s original inhabitants.

“Plains blood in your family, is there, Rhun?” he asked with a half-smile.

“Hard to say.” The man’s black eyes were unreadable. “All I know is we’re stockmen, always have been.”

“What did the plainsmen use places like this for, anyway?” Temar stood and turned slowly, staring up at the earthen walls.

“Marriages, parleys, death rites.” Rhun shrugged. “Placating the spirits.”

He pointed to a line of bedraggled feathers stuck into the turf to the left of the entrance. “That’s giving thanks to the cloud eagles for taking the carrion.”

Temar stared at the barred pinions for a moment then returned to the matter at hand, determinedly shaking off a faint unease. “How recent would you call this fire?”

“Three days, may be four.”

“Not really anything to worry about, then. Still, we can tell the others we’ve found recent trace of raiders; it’ll give them something to stay alert for.” Temar mounted and led the way back to the wagons, now spread over the best part of half a league.

The long day and the next passed without incident, Temar’s initial excitement at finally being on the move waning, especially as the length and frequency of the rest breaks needed by the oxen became apparent. Enthusiasm diminishing rapidly, he concluded sourly that his role as commander of the so-called guards was little more than a device by Lachald to keep him out of the way.

“At this rate Den Fellaemion will have sailed before we reach the Astmarsh,” he complained without preamble that evening, planting himself in front of Lachald, arms folded.

“Go and see if the herds have reached the ford, will you?” Lachald took a bowl of vegetable stew, thickened with grain, from Rielle. “Thank you, my dear.”

Temar muttered an oath and strode off to his horse, Lachald shaking his head as he watched him go.

“Captain?” Rhun looked up from his own meal.

“Stay and eat,” Temar snapped as he yanked his horse’s reluctant head round.

The smoke of numerous dung fires coiled upwards into the vast emptiness as he skirted the wagons and the hobbled oxen grazing with bovine contentment. Temar’s lips narrowed as he saw the sun was barely on the horizon, yet they were already stopping for the night. Cresting a rolling ridge, he saw a silvery thread of water winding through the green. The herds were already crossing the ford, splashing through the muddied water.

“Why can’t people just follow their cursed orders?” Temar fumed, using his heels to take out a little of his frustration on his hapless mount.

“What are you doing?” he yelled at a herder on the far bank. “Lachald said we cross the river together, tomorrow!”

“You come and tell the cows, then.” The man evidently didn’t recognize Temar. “They started crossing—”

The man’s voice was lost as urgent bellows rang through the lowing of grazing beasts.

“Gurrywit!” Temar swore and galloped through the water, looking for the men who were supposed to be guarding the cattle. He turned into a slight hollow and saw them, apprehensive, all seated around a fire with rough-cut steaks threaded on a hastily rigged spit.

“Get your arses up and your swords out!” Temar spat, threatening the nearest youth with the flat of his own blade. A confusion of hasty explanations drowned him out momentarily until he silenced the men with a trooper’s obscenities.

“Come on!” Temar led the way out of the river gully and saw a group of ragged figures intent on cutting out a section of the agitated herd. Temar yelled a challenge but, able to see the guards from such a distance, the raiders melted away into the gathering dusk and the hollows of the grassland. Temar was just drawing breath to berate his ill-assorted troop when cries for help rang out from the far side of the throng of milling cattle.

“Bastards!” he swore in disbelief as he led the men in, forcing a way through the animals. They achieved little more than scattering the beasts still further; the raiders were nowhere to be seen, only a gang of startled herders clustered around one of their number who’d taken a club to the head. Real panic was threatening among the cattle now, and Temar’s men began to move instinctively to use their horses to curb and control the herd.

“How many have we lost?” Temar demanded of a herder.

“Don’t know what’s stolen and what’s strayed,” the man said helplessly.

Temar was about to pursue this when Rhun’s horn rang up into the gray evening sky. Not waiting to check who was with him, Temar galloped back to the ford to hear screams and shouts from the straggling line of motionless wagons. A flare of orange blossomed in the gloaming as a burning brand sailed in from the darkness, scattering a bevy of shrieking women. A horseman was silhouetted against a cook-fire as he galloped in and snatched a waiting side of meat from the spit, his mount barely breaking stride. Frantic barking from the far side of a wagon was suddenly stilled and the wail of a terrified child rose to a shriek. Temar’s hand hesitated over his throwing knives; in this confusion, he couldn’t risk hitting friend rather than foe. A knot of gray shapes moved stealthily along the furthest edge of the firelight and Temar marked where they halted. He looked around wildly and saw Rhun cantering down the line, searching for the guards. Temar met him and caught his bridle, dragging him between two carts without apology.

“They’re waiting out beyond the lead wagon. Get some men and circle around to drive them off.”

Rhun left without need of further instruction and Temar headed back toward Lachald’s position. A cart stood abandoned, tailgate swinging and its sacks and casks scattered as its frightened driver had rushed his family instinctively to Lachald’s protection. As Temar galloped past a small figure dashed out from beneath the axles and vanished into the night, some nameless loot clutched greedily to its chest.

“Are you all right?” Temar yelled, relieved to see Lachald’s carriage in a circle with two other carts, the men staying close, swords drawn.

“Get whoever you can across the ford,” Lachald bellowed in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’re too spread out.”

Temar wheeled his horse around and pointed at one of the spotty youths.

“Get to the head of the line, tell them to yoke up and get moving. Wait!” he yelled in exasperation as the lad went to leave. “Tell them to work and move in groups, not to get separated.”

Movement flickered in the corner of Temar’s eye as he turned away from the lad and he caught a glimpse of shadowy shapes circling behind Lachald’s carriage.

“Come on.” He dug his spurs into his horse’s bleeding flanks and fury carried him into a ragged figure whose rough-coated steed had temporarily unseated him. Temar managed to lay a deep slash across the raider’s back before he got his mount under control, but he could only watch, cursing, as the man was swallowed up by the concealing darkness. Every instinct screamed at Temar to go after the robber but he managed to restrain himself.

“Stay here, drive them off but don’t go beyond the firelight,” he commanded the knot of armed men who had belatedly ridden up.

He began yet another circuit of the file of carts and was finally able to get his guards working in effective groups, each defending a section of the line against the harrying raiders. Gathering a smaller troop, Temar moved to concentrate on protecting the carts crossing the ford. Once the vehicles were formed into a defensive circle, the darting assaults soon tailed off, though Temar stayed on a knife-edge of apprehension until the first pale streaks of dawn showed above the eastern horizon. Exhaustion hit him like a mallet when sunrise at last revealed empty grassland all around. He went in search of Lachald.

“What are the losses?” Temar asked, shivering and looking hungrily at a kettle of porridge bubbling over Rielle’s fire.

“None dead, some minor wounds,” Lachald responded curtly. “Some food and supplies taken, and more scattered or spoiled.”

Temar sighed with relief. “We’ve been lucky.”

“You mean you’ve been lucky. If those raiders had wanted to, they could have cut us into rags.” Lachald’s harsh tone was uncompromising. “You’re in charge of the guards and they were a complete shambles.”

Faces turned as Lachald’s voice rose and Temar stood, mouth open, unable to deny the accusation.

“I thought you were supposed to be sending out scouts? Exactly what instructions had you given, in case of attack? Why didn’t you come and tell me at once that the cattle had crossed the river? Do you know where the horses and the sheep have got to? Go and find out!”

Temar turned without a word and found a fresh horse, avoiding anyone else’s eyes. He rode off, finally grateful to the ever present breeze as it cooled the humiliation burning his cheeks.

The River Road, Eastern Caladhria, from Prosain Heath to South Varis, 13th of Aft-Spring

Getting the caravan moving once daybreak arrived was no simple task. After rides on wagons for the wounded were sorted out and the order was rearranged to take account of the reduced guard, the sun was well over the tree-tops before the beasts and carts were anything like ready. The mule-master, a thickset man with thinning fair hair, nearly came to blows with an arrogant type with expensive boots, now thoroughly muddy and scuffed. I gathered he was the negotiator and was getting agitated about delays that might cost them dear in Relshaz. Eventually Nyle stepped in to make peace, his scowl deterring the pair from any further argument. I watched, amused, but turned away when he saw me looking. He can’t have liked that for some reason, because I soon caught him looking after me, checking my place every so often. By the end of the day, I was starting to get tired of it.

Either word had spread through the undergrowth or we’d finished off the only group of bandits, because we cleared the Heath with no further trouble. We reached the Spread Eagle just as the sun was sinking behind the western hills and the shadows of the trees were meeting over the road. It was a sprawling substantial building of local flint and brick surrounded by a broad expanse of paddocks and barns of solid tarred wood. We could see South Varis spreading itself around the far side of a modest lake, a typical Caladhrian stretch of neat cruck-framed crofts and tidy workshops, all freshly lime-washed in pale colors, lights already being snuffed as the inhabitants went to their beds along with the sun.

Metal-shod hooves clacked over the cobbles and the laden carts rattled through the arch of the stableyard, Nyle and the mule-master loudly demanding service. The thin-faced negotiator dismounted with a sour expression and left his horse to an underling without a backward glance. I watched him stalk off through the front door and heard him calling peremptorily for his usual chamber and a hot bath. Stable hands appeared and helped the new arrivals sort themselves out, voices lifting above the racket of uncooperative pack animals.

“I’ll help Halice with our gear and stowing the gig; Livak, you and Shiv find someone to take care of the horses. Viltred, you can find the innkeeper or whoever’s in charge here—get some rooms before they’re all taken.”

The old mage gave me a sharp look, clearly unused to taking orders, but he headed for the main door without argument. I was glad about that; I wasn’t intending to spend anymore of this trip nursing his self-importance along like a leaking row-boat.

I dismounted and yawned; this was getting ridiculous—a day’s easy ride in clear weather shouldn’t leave me this weary. Still, a good night’s sleep in a decent bed should set me to rights.

“If there’s an ostler or groom spare, see if they’ve seen any unusual travelers.” Shiv glanced around the stableyard.

“Help you, sirs?” A stooped old man followed by an overpowering smell of horses sidled out of a nearby barn. “You’ll need some help, ladies.”

It wasn’t a question and he was staring at Halice’s leg with ill-disguised curiosity.

“No we don’t.” Halice’s reply was understandably curt.

“I think we can manage, if you’re needed elsewhere.” I softened her words with a polite nod; it was important that our beasts were treated well, with the place so busy.

The groom leaned against the doorjamb and treated us to an ingratiating display of sparse yellow teeth.

“No call for me, just yet. You’re on a trip to the south then?”

Livak turned to him with a bright smile, all charming innocence and wide, confiding eyes.

“We’re on our way to Relshaz,” she said, with a nicely calculated touch of breathlessness. “Grandfather has investments there and with both our uncles putting their coin in our cousins came along as well.”

I caught Shiv’s eye to let him know to alert Viltred to this new chain of relationships and looked away fast so that we could both keep a straight face.

The old gossip’s eyes brightened. “What business are you in, then?”

I could see him imagining all the fascinating possibilities— spices, silks, gems, bronzes. Relshaz is the main port for eastern Caladhria and most of the Aldabreshin trade on top of that.

“Animal feeds.” The enthusiasm in Livak’s voice nearly tripped me, despite myself. “Barley, oats, that kind of thing. Fodder crops are too bulky, you see, and then there’s the problems of transport, but grain is a different matter. If you time it right, you can get quite a premium, shipping to the Archipelago.”

“Oh.” The old ostler was noticeably less interested now.

“That’s only if the Aldabreshi don’t start importing for themselves,” Halice said sourly. “I heard tell a group had been making enquiries around Trebin. You haven’t seen them on the road, have you? A gang of about six, all dressed in black, keeping themselves to themselves?”

I mentally tallied up a Crown owed to Halice’s quick wits but the little man shook his head with what I judged to be genuine ignorance. I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or disappointed.

I held out a silver Mark. “Please make sure all the horses are settled and the harness is properly cleaned.”

“I’ll get the boy to do it.” The groom took the coin and somewhat ungraciously slouched off, whistling sharply to summon two lads who were taking their time to get a bale of straw spread for some mules.

“Livak, next time, do you think we could agree on a ballad before you start singing it?” Shiv’s voice was muffled as he bent to loosen his horse’s girths.

“What were you planning to do? Stand around and look shifty and get him imagining all sorts of possibilities?” Livak led the beasts away to the stables with a shake of her head.

“That’s not the issue.” Shiv followed her, determined to pursue the point.

Unracking the gig’s seat I reached into the body of the vehicle for our luggage. “No harm done, as long as we make sure Viltred knows he’s just become a grandfather.”

I tucked my sword under the flap of one of my saddle bags and passed it to Halice, while I leaned over for Viltred’s bag.

Halice whistled with more than a trace of envy and I turned to see she was looking at the intricate leatherwork of my scabbard.

“Maybe I should try swearing to a Formalin patron if that means I’d get to wear a Prince’s heirloom at my belt.”

I wasn’t about to pass up the first friendly remark she’d made to me that day so I handed the sword over.

She turned it this way and that and smiled as she felt the superb balance. Drawing the blade a little way, she peered at the bright steel.

“It’s not a D’Olbriot heirloom, it’s loot from the mad old wizard that Viltred used to know,” I explained.

“This is the sword that came from Azazir?” Her plain face lit with curiosity. “No wonder Viltred wants to catch up with those thieves. What did he lose—do you know exactly? A couple of swords like this, we could be talking serious bullion weight.”

“Let’s ask him,” I said obligingly before another yawn threatened to crack my face. “Dast’s teeth, I hope this place has clean beds; I don’t seem to have had a solid night’s sleep since Solstice.”

“You and me both,” Halice said curtly as we went to find the others.

We found Viltred in a pleasantly furnished tap-room, talking to a buxom lass with a snowy apron and glossy curls who was happy to take his patronizing manner as long as it came with solid coin.

“Oh, there you all are, at last. Now, I’ve managed to get three bedchambers, one for the girls and you can share with Shiv, Ryshad. Supper will be ready in a few minutes so we’ve just got time to wash.”

No one was going to have trouble believing we were Viltred’s grandchildren if he carried on treating us like this, I decided. Not until Livak tipped soup or something worse over him, anyway.

“It’s the first three rooms overlooking the mere,” the maidservant volunteered with a speculative smile at Shiv. “I’ll be up with a warming-pan later to take the chill off the linen.”

I’d been wondering if I might have the chance to heat up Livak’s sheets for her but it didn’t look likely. I sighed; it would have been one way of guaranteeing a sound night’s sleep, if nothing else.

We trooped up the stairs after Viltred like the dutiful descendants we weren’t and all followed him into his room.

“I think we should know just what these Ice Islanders took from you,” I began.

“Things get traded in places like this,” commented Livak. “If someone offers me a two-Mark ring that should be worth ten, I’d like to know if it could be one of yours.”

“That’s a good point,” Shiv agreed.

“So what did you and Azazir steal from the Elietimm?” asked Halice.

The old wizard bridled at the implication that he was a thief but shut his mouth on a retort, smoothing the front of his faded velvet jerkin for a moment instead. “There were four swords, two rapiers for court wear and two broadswords; a couple of dress daggers; a chatelaine’s key-ring; some plain gold signet rings, a necklet of pearls, several goblets and tankards with family insignia; a gentleman’s note-tablet; an ink-well—”

I held up a hand. “That’s enough to be going on with, isn’t it, Livak? Let’s eat.”

We ate an excellent meal from a table of ten or more dishes and lingered a little while over some fine porter. I bathed and shaved off the stubble of the last few days with considerable pleasure and was still in bed before the chimes of midnight sounded faintly over the water from South Varis. Inevitably I slept poorly again, though I couldn’t say if that was down to Shiv’s interminable snores or frustration as I thought about Livak asleep on the other side of the lath and plaster wall.

The sound of more traffic in the yard woke me and I opened the shutters for a breath of fresh air as I dressed.

“I wouldn’t mind giving that redhead a few turns on the spit.” A lone voice echoed up from a group of stable lads idly tossing runes, resonant in one of those unpredictable silences that open up especially for embarrassing remarks. I looked to my right to see Livak leaning on the sill of her window.

“Shall we find some breakfast?” I laughed. “Or do you want to take him up on his offer?”

“You can stop smirking,” she growled, but I saw she was failing to keep her own face straight as she drew back from the open shutters.

“One of these days I’m going to take the Great West Road and search those unholy woods until I find someone who can tell me if Forest Folk really are as insatiable in bed as all the stories say,” she muttered as we went down the stairs. “It’s a cursed inconvenient reputation to live with, you know.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure. You might be able to acquire some useful information if that lot are more interested in watching your bodice buttons than what they’re saying.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she admitted with an unabashed smile.

We watched the comings and goings in the tap-room over fresh bread better than any I’d had since leaving home and potted fruit my mother would have been ashamed to serve to her pigs. After a while we sauntered out to take the sun on a bench facing the stableyard and entertained ourselves trying to guess the origins and destinations of the various vehicles and pack animals. A varied collection of local merchants and independent traders came up from the south some while later and I saw a trader with Relshazri wheels to his wagon set down a dark-haired girl in a low-necked dress at the gate and drive through to the barns without stopping. After all, a ride for a ride is the usual deal, no more, no less, and that meant the girl was the type I was looking for. I watched as she headed for the rear of the inn without a backward glance.

“I think I might start asking a few questions.” If we were hunting, it was time we started trying to find a scent. I stood up and Livak nodded her understanding, casually unlacing the neck of her shirt a little and adopting an effectively deceptive guise of big eyes and little brain.

“I’ll see what I can find out from the wagoneers who came in this morning.” She sauntered off, hips swaying just enough to catch the eye.

I walked around to the rear of the inn, treading carefully around a suspicious hound chained to a post and grimacing as I caught the scent of the midden. Voices at the door came around the corner of the building and I stopped, hoping the dog didn’t decide to object as it watched me with pricked ears.

“I’ll work for broken meat and bread, just until I get a ride out of here.” There was no pleading in the cart girl’s voice, which I had to admire.

“We’re not hiring.” The glossy-haired wench who’d served us was sharp with disdain.

“I’m not looking for a permanent place, just something to eat in return for giving you an easier few days.” The girl’s instincts were good, I noted, making a reasonable offer rather than just begging. “The house looks pretty full to me.”

“Oh, all right. You can help out tonight, but you sleep in the stables.” I heard quick steps on the kitchen flagstones then the scrape of a heel as the maid turned back with an afterthought. “You do your business in the yard, I don’t want you bothering customers in the tap-room. Any thieving, I’ll send to Varis for the Watch and they can flog you in the market square.”

I leaned against a water butt until the dark girl came back around the corner.

“Are you heading north?” She looked me up and down and stayed out of arm’s length.

I shook my head. “South, and I’m looking for information about the road.” I tucked my thumbs into my belt and the coin in the purse hanging from it chinked softly as I nudged it.

“What sort of thing, exactly?” She looked cautious as well she might. Axle-greasers, harness brasses, call them what you will, these girls live a dangerous life; Dastennin only knows what the rewards are. She had the usual mongrel looks of the breed, thinner than she should have been, with a face older than her years should have given her.

“I’m Ryshad.” I held out a hand.

“Larrel.” She kept her arms folded defensively.

“I’m interested in finding a handful or so of men traveling together, black-liveried probably, all yellow-haired. We think they’re on the road south of here.”

“What’s it worth?” Her eyes told me she had seen them.

“That depends how much you can tell me.” I folded my own arms and smiled at her, not so pleasantly.

“There were six of them, all walking, one with a long cloak and no pack, the rest loaded like troopers who’ve lost their horses.” Her own smile told me she was no fool and more importantly, no liar, not about this at any rate.

I reached into my purse. “A Mark for the name of the nearest village and a Mark for how many days since you saw them.”

“Formalin Marks, not Caladhrian,” she countered. “Five pence to the Mark, not four, I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Fine.” I shrugged. The two extra coppers meant nothing to me but would buy someone like her a welcome hot meal.

“They were half a day’s walk south of Armhangar, the day before yesterday.”

She held out her hand and I passed her the coin. “My thanks.”

Surprise flared briefly in her eyes as she tucked the coin into a purse at her waist. I watched her go, found a bone in the midden to toss to the dog and went to see what I might find out from the kitchen staff in the lull between breakfast and the noon rush. It wasn’t much of a surprise to find none of them had seen so much as a polished stud off an Elietimm livery; the Ice Islanders didn’t strike me as the type of travelers to put up each evening at the nearest inn to share an idle ale and a joke. I frowned as I went in search of the others.

The stableyard was surprisingly quiet but a rising level of noise led me to a crowd gathering on the far side of the barns. I found the rails of an empty paddock lined with a mixture of locals and traveling men. Shiv saw me and waved, so I headed over to him.

“So, have you heard tell of any black-liveried travelers?” Shiv leaned on the fence rail and ran a hand through his hair.

I told him what I had learned and then looked around for the others. “Where’s Viltred?” I asked.

“Resting in his room.”

Shiv and I watched as two men climbed over the fence, one carrying two polished staffs over his shoulder, the other with a bundle of inflated bladders dangling from one hand.

“He’s not going to get much sleep with all this going on.” Fatigue betrayed me and I heard a slight sneer in my tone.

“He’s an old man, tired, stiff and sore,” said Shiv mildly. “Be fair, he’s only a handful of years off his third generation festival.”

I looked at Shiv in some surprise and tried to think if I’d ever known anyone that old before. We would have to make some allowance for Viltred if he was carrying seventy years or more in his purse. I supposed Messire D’Olbriot’s uncle, who had been Sieur before him, must be about that age and I had to allow he was hardly in any shape to go riding any distance, let alone day after day.

We watched as the men lashed together frames for hanging a bladder at each end of the field.

“This is spit-noggin, isn’t it? Is it as hard a game as I’ve heard?”

“It can be,” Shiv chuckled. “It depends if there’s anyone playing who has a score to settle with someone else on the field.”

Two teams were sorting themselves out by the paddock gate. After some toing and froing, the match resolved itself pretty much into local traders and a few farmers who’d been passing taking a line against the guards and wagoneers from the Duryea train; fourteen to each side was the figure finally agreed on.

“Is it only the man with the staff who can’t cross the throwing line, or does everyone have to stay clear of it?” I watched as the men setting the field scored a deep line in the uneven turf at either end of the playing area.

“Only the staff-holder. Don’t you play this in Formalin?” Shiv looked surprised.

“In the north, on the western borders, but don’t forget I’m from Zyoutessela. If you go any further south than that, you fall off the Cape of Winds,” I reminded him.

The first run of the game began. The wagon-train men were clearly used to playing together and soon had the staff passing smoothly between them as they ran through and around the local boys. A cheer went up as their man pitched the arm’s length of polished wood at the suspended bladder, but he missed by barely a finger’s breadth. Five men went down in the scramble for the staff but one of the grooms got it and the action came sweeping back down the field toward us.

“I’m going to see if I can find Livak.” Shiv stood up from the rail. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll hang on here.” I kept my eyes on the field. “This is quite something, isn’t it?”

Shiv laughed and slipped away through the crowd, and I concentrated on following the game. We don’t go in for these gang sports so much in Formalin; we tend to favor contests of individual skill instead. I started to wonder how my own spear-throwing talents would play in a game like this. The trick would be getting a chance to use them, I decided, wincing as a man poised to throw disappeared under a heap of dusty jerkins. One failed to get up as fast as the rest and limped off, clutching a hand to his chest. There was a short pause before another mule handler jumped the rails to take the injured man’s place.

“Do you fancy a turn in a team?”

I turned to find Nyle at my shoulder. What was it the man wanted with me?

“What about your friends?” he went on. “We could do with a decent runner.”

I shrugged. “You’ll have to ask them yourself.”

“You’re Formalin-born, aren’t you? Do they play spit-noggin in the east?”

“Not where I live. Will you be playing later?” I can do idle conversation as well as anyone else but I wondered if there was going to be any point to this.

“Oh, yes.” Nyle moved a little closer and leaned forward. “The thing is, I wanted to talk to you first. I do a little trading on the side for myself as well, weapons mainly. I noticed your sword—it’s Old Formalin work isn’t it? I wondered if you might be interested in selling?”

“Not really.” I shrugged again.

“I could do you a really good price, you know. I have a contact who is looking for just that kind of blade.”

A sudden yell from the field might have meant Nyle hadn’t heard my answer, I supposed, but the keenness in his steely gray eyes made me doubt that. Was this just a random encounter, I wondered, or did we have some hounds who’d picked up our own scent while we were nose down for another quarry?

“Sorry, friend, but it’s not mine to sell.”

I took care to color my words with boredom rather than betray any suspicion and turned back to the game. Things were starting to heat up as a dispute broke out over whether or not a muleteer had stepped over the throwing line before the staff had left his hand.

“You could make your patron a coffer full of gold. Think about it; there’d be a decent purse in it for yourself, best part of a season’s pay.”

“No thanks.”

There was a cry from the field as one of the locals threw a punch and a shout went up for Nyle. His broad nostrils flared briefly in ill-disguised irritation.

“I’ll see you later.” He tried for an affable smile but his eyes were still hard; clearly a man not about to take a refusal as final.

He vaulted over the rail and was drawn into the game, leaving me to ponder this odd conversation. A great roar went up and I saw Nyle had the staff and was running with it. He was surprisingly agile for such a big man and when some luckless turnip-herder tried to grab the wood he threw the man off with a twist of the staff that sent him spinning into the gathering crowd.

“Nicely done! That’s a Gidestan move; no wonder they haven’t seen it around here before.” Halice pushed her way through the increasingly dense crowd and leaned heavily on the rail beside me.

I wondered what Nyle had been doing in Gidesta; he didn’t look like a miner, a trapper or a logger, which is pretty much all there is to do in the northern mountains. His accent wasn’t Gidestan either. I shook it off as irrelevant.

“Where’s Livak?”

“Taking bets.” Halice pointed across the paddock and I saw Livak’s coppery head in the middle of an eager cluster of people waving purses.

“What’s she giving them?”

“Two wins five for the mule train, three wins seven for the locals,” said Halice, watching the game thoughtfully. “Better if they win by more than five heads.”

“Heads?” I was puzzled.

Halice pointed to one of the bladders swaying a little in the breeze.

“The Mountain Men are supposed to have used heads taken in battle when they invented the game. Sorgren says it’s the way they used to keep their fighting skills sharp. He swears his grandfather could remember seeing it played with the heads of some miners who’d pushed too far into the mountains, and I’ve seen pig’s heads used in western Gidesta.”

There was a suspicion of relish in Halice’s voice as she glanced sideways to see how I would react to this.

I laughed with a grimace. “Messy!”

A group of the farmers seemed to have got themselves in step at last and managed to bring the game down to our end of the paddock. Five of them concentrated on flattening any muleteer who came within grabbing range and so their man managed to send the staff curling through the air to split the bladder clean in half.

“Have you found anyone who’s come across the Elietimm on the road?”

Halice didn’t hear me so I had to nudge her in the ribs and repeat myself, trying not to speak too loudly despite the cover offered by the noise of the crowd all around.

“What? Oh, yes. Well, a couple of them said they’d seen a small group of men camping out where the Linneyway goes off from the River Road. I think that must have been them— the wagoneer said they were all white-blond, that’s why they caught his eye, all of them being so fair.”

I frowned. “What were they wearing?”

Halice caught her breath and looked annoyed with herself. “He didn’t say and I didn’t think to ask. Just ordinary clothes, I suppose; he’d have mentioned any livery, wouldn’t he?”

“Can you try and find out?”

A shout went up and I saw someone waving a large sandglass to indicate a break was due. It took a few moments to attract everyone’s attention and then there was something of a lull, the noise muted by tankards of ale downed all round.

“By the way, that guard, Nyle, was asking me about your sword,” said Halice. “He does a bit of weapons trading on the side, it seems.”

“He came to ask me himself. I’m still wondering what to make of it.”

The teams sorted themselves out and a few men evidently decided they’d had enough, limping off, cradling bruised hands or nursing bloodied noses and mouths.

“What’s he offering?” Halice cocked an inquiring eyebrow at me.

“Doesn’t matter.” I shook my head. “Messire got it from Planir and gave it to me as a Solstice gift by way of recompense for that little excursion to the Ice Islands with Livak and Shiv.”

I shivered abruptly and I heard a distant echo of my own screams at the hands of the Elietimm leader. That memory was going to fade about as fast as a pirate’s tattoos.

“Caught the draft from Poldrion’s cloak?” Halice joked, but her eyes were thoughtful nonetheless.

“Something like that,” I said shortly, looking back to the field where the fresh men were forcing the pace on as the game recommenced.

“Your Messire thinks well of you, then?” inquired Halice.

“I try to give him reason to.” That sounded a little more pompous than I had intended but Halice seemed unperturbed.

“So how did you come to swear to him? Is it a family thing? Are you following your father?”

“No,” I smiled at that. “My father’s a stonemason, and with my two oldest brothers picking up the chisels he let my next brother and myself choose our own paths.”

And in the year after the dappled fever had taken Kitria, the three of them had cut more stone and faced more buildings than any other masons in the city. My mother had spent half of each waking day either in tears or Halcarion’s shrine and Mistal had fled the city entirely. I had sought every sensation I could in a vain effort to stop myself feeling her loss.

“How long since you gave your oath?”

“Twelve years, this summer.” I didn’t have to think about that; twelve years since I’d spent an entire Solstice drunk on raw spirits and dazed with thassin in the arms of a succession of cheap whores. I’d woken up to bleeding gums, a splitting head, a dose of the itch. More immediately I’d realized that I had to do something different, and quickly, or Poldrion would soon be ferrying me back and forth in the Shades between the worlds until I could come up with some explanation to give Saedrin for the waste of that particular life.

“Livak’s told me about what happened to you out there, on the Ice Islands.” Halice turned away from the game abruptly.

“Then you know all you need to.” Halice might be unbending a little toward me, but I wasn’t about to start discussing those experiences with her.

“I know more than Livak thought she was telling me.”

That struck me as an odd remark and I turned away from the field myself.

“What do you mean?”

“She told me about the Ice-man and the way he got inside your minds.” Halice’s eyes were dark and unfathomable. “But she didn’t say a lot about you and that makes me think you got inside her head, if nowhere else.”

I stared down at her with no little challenge but her gaze didn’t waver.

“Livak’s a smart girl and no one’s fool, but every so often a man’ll come along and she drops the runes completely,” Halice went on in a conversational tone. “I try to make sure I’m there to help her gather the set, settle any scores, just so you know. I’m sure you don’t want to make her sorry she met you, do you?”

A roar from the crowd drowned the rest of her words and everyone turned to see some unfortunate clutching his ribs being carried off the field. When I turned back to Halice she had slipped away.

I rubbed a hand over my face and wondered what to make of that particular conversation. I’ve been asked my intentions a couple of times by stilted fathers, several times by kindly aunts with speculative eyes and once, in that heedless period of my youth, I was warned off by three angry brothers with axe-helves in a back alley due to a miscalculation born of thassin-inspired overconfidence.

I decided this came somewhere between an inquiry and a threat and couldn’t decide whether to be indignant or pleased that Livak had a friend who looked out for her interests. At least Halice hadn’t waited for an answer; that was a relief. I didn’t know where I might be going with Livak, not beyond the closest bed if I had the chance, that was. I wondered what Halice might have been saying to Livak. Dastennin curse the woman for an interfering wharf bird, I muttered under my breath; I didn’t even know what Livak’s own feelings were and, until I did, I could do without Halice scratching up the dust between us.

A shout came from the field. “We need three more to make up the numbers or we forfeit to Nyle’s men!”

On an impulse I didn’t stop to examine, I decided the game looked like an excellent way to work off some of the building frustrations of this journey. A handful of men climbed the paddock rails with me and I was chosen for the locals over a lad from South Vans who looked as if he was being fattened up for slaughter. The sand-glass was turned and the next run began. I found myself in the thick of the action, being tall enough to stand out for anyone looking to throw the staff and save himself a pounding. Luckily I have sure hands and I found the footwork I’ve spent years learning for swordwork meant I was agile enough to evade most of the tackles. I dodged and weaved and found myself yelling with the exhilaration of it all as I outstripped the pack and ran for the throwing line at the far end of the field.

One burly muleteer managed to grasp one end of the wood, but strangely no one had ever told him a staff is a two-ended weapon. He drew his hands close into his body with a snarl of triumph so I got my hip behind my end and just kept it going forward. He went down like a sack of wheat when he caught my full weight on the staff hammering into his short ribs. I went straight over him, and when I saw him later I could recognize the print of my boot on his chest. I thought I was going to be flattened like a mudfish when a heavy-set carter swung around toward me, fists clenched, but someone appeared at my elbow out of nowhere and dropped the man with a heavy shoulder straight in the stones that suggested a personal interest.

A couple of local lads who must have built their muscles wrestling bullocks proved that big men can put on a burst of speed if they need to and drew level with me. I saw Nyle and another wagoneer heading for me and I whipped my head rapidly from side to side to check where the cow handlers were. One gave me a brilliant smile, nodded to his brother, and I dug my heels into the turf to let them surge past me. They hit Nyle and another wagoneer like a rock-slide and the field ahead was clear. I heard the thunder of hammering feet behind me and knew I only had a moment. Forgetting everything I’ve ever been taught about spear throwing, I sent the length of wood spiraling through the air and saw it smack the bladder high up over the frame before I caught what felt like half a cohort in the small of my back.

When I saw daylight again I spat out a mouthful of grass and some bits of a dried clod I didn’t want to examine too closely, but my sense of elation was uncrushed.

“Good throw!” Livak’s voice cut through the roars of the crowd and I saw her bright hair and lively face close at hand, by the rail.

I waved and blew an extravagant kiss in her direction before scrambling up to avoid getting trampled into the clay. As the game continued I managed another score and took out wagoneers with some vital tackles to help make three more. We finally gave it up after nine runs when everyone was just too tired and no more replacements came forward. I wasn’t sorry; if we’d gone on, I reckoned there was a danger of it degenerating into a brawl, which is one reason it’s a game frowned on in Formalin. The final score was agreed as fifteen heads for the wagon train losing to my team’s twenty-one and the mood suggested no one was disgraced by that. Once we’d scraped off the worst of the mud, everyone moved onto the tap-room where the serious drinking began. I looked around hopefully for Livak, keen to know how much she’d made on the betting.

“Over here!” Shiv stood up from a corner table and I pushed my way through the throng, trying to evade delays for congratulations from my erstwhile team-mates.

Halice poured me an ale and I downed it in one before taking a second a little slower; I didn’t want to drink too much, too fast, not on top of all that exercise.

“I think dinner may be a little slower this evening.” Livak appeared from the direction of the kitchen and pulled up a stool next to me.

“Had a profitable afternoon?” I grinned at her.

“Very!” She flashed a smile at me and patted the billow of her shirt which clinked discreetly.

“Anyway, have either of you heard anything about our friends from the east?” Shiv was suddenly all business, voice low, although I don’t know why he was bothering given the amount of noise all around us.

“I got a good lead on a group in black about a day and a half south of here, but Halice got just as clear a nod on some blond travelers away over near the Linneyway.” I reached for my drink and tried to drag my mind back to our chase.

“When I was taking bets I made out I was asking after a bad debt and was told both tales,” said Livak.

“Where’s that map of yours? Could it be two sightings of the same group?” Halice sounded unconvinced and I didn’t blame her.

“Could they have split up?” I asked.

Shiv shook his head. “I doubt it; Viltred’s been scrying and he’s sure that everything that was taken is still together.”

“I checked and the group I heard about are definitely in local clothes, not any kind of livery,” added Halice. “I’d say we have got the thieves and another pack to worry about now.”

“But are they after us, after Viltred or after the other lot in black?” Livak frowned.

“Or going about some entirely unrelated business?” I took another drink. “It’s always possible.”

“I’ll go and talk to Viltred. He might be able to scry for this other troop if he knows the area himself.” Shiv shot a regretful glance toward the cart-girl Larrel, who was doing the rounds with a tray of bread and cut meats to placate the hungry customers.

Livak caught his arm as he moved. “Not so fast. That guard captain, Nyle, seems very keen to buy Ryshad’s sword. Did you know about that?”

Shiv shrugged. “That’s hardly surprising, is it? It’s an Old Empire sword; those blades are always in demand.”

“Don’t come the festival virgin with me, Shiv, I know you too well.” She shook her head at him. “There isn’t anyone like Darni working the area, is there? Tempting people to sell off the family heirlooms so Planir can investigate them, letting idiots like me involve themselves in your daft schemes? You don’t think I’m going to forget being caught like that, do you?” Her tone was distinctly waspish.

“I doubt it.” Shiv frowned. “I can check, if you like, but I think Planir would have told me, don’t you?”

“Nyle said he has contacts who are looking out for swords like that,” persisted Livak. “The Elietimm were hunting for Old Empire artifacts last year, weren’t they?”

And stealing them, I thought grimly. Messire’s nephew had lost his wits in the beating he’d taken trying to protect the heirloom rings the bastards were after.

“Nyle might not know it himself, but whoever he’s selling to could be tied in with them,” Halice chipped in. “What if he tells them about this sword he couldn’t get hold of? I’d say we should seriously think about selling it. I don’t want to find I’m suddenly on the wrong side of this hunting trip.”

“I know it was a gift from your Messire, Rysh, but it could be putting us all in danger. Selling it might be best.” Livak turned an intense stare on me and I shrugged noncommittally. She and Halice were evidently up to something here.

“I really don’t think we need to think about doing that,” Shiv replied just a little too firmly.

I gave him a curious look. The euphoria that I’d brought in from the paddock started to fade fast; it looked as if there was another game going on here and I started to suspect I was missing a few crucial pieces.

“You don’t want him to sell, do you? Does Ryshad know just what it is that he’s carrying?” Livak’s emerald eyes challenged Shiv, but his gaze slid sideways.

“It’s an Old Empire sword, he knows that.”

“What about the trouble he’s having sleeping?” Halice chipped in.

“Are you hoping to hear all about some peculiar dreams, by any chance, Shiv?” persisted Livak.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” I gripped my goblet and cursed myself for forgetting that the Archmage could well have Shiv trawling for different fish than the rest of us.

“You tell him or I will,” Livak threatened.

“You remember I told you Planir was studying Formalin antiquities, that was what he sent me to Viltred to collect?” Shiv scratched his ear as he struggled for words and I got a feeling I wasn’t going to like what I was about to hear. “I don’t think I mentioned that some of these seem to give their owners strange dreams, detailed visions of the fall of the Empire. The Archmage wants to use them to find out more about the foundation of Hadrumal, which happened about a generation later, when the magic that governs the elements was first properly developed.”

“The mysterious city of wizards, hidden Trimon only knows where, to keep the arts of magic safe from the non-mage-born.” Halice’s tone was distinctly sarcastic.

The corners of Shiv’s mouth twitched downwards, betraying his irritation. “It’s where the Archmage and the most powerful wizards live and study. It’s not really all that arcane.”

“Just as long as it keeps mages away from honest folk,” said Livak cuttingly.

“Most mages find it frees them from the distractions of life among the non-mage-born,” Shiv sniffed a touch pompously.

“What has this got to do with my sword,” I broke in impatiently.

“You remember when we tracked the Elietimm back to their islands last year, we found proof that the Formalin colony lost around the fall of the Empire was not in Gidesta after all?” Shiv asked me, ignoring Livak. “And that the Old Formalins used this ancient magic, the aetheric enchantment that the Elietimm were using on us last year, whatever that may be exactly?”

“Yes, of course.” I looked at him suspiciously. “It looks like the colony was somewhere on the far side of the ocean. Messire’s been talking about trying to find it, Dastennin willing. Get to the point, Shiv.”

“It seems these colonists were attacked by the Elietimm but they somehow managed to disrupt the Ice Islanders’ magic, not realizing it would bring the roof in on the Empire at home, which also relied on using this old magic.”

I glanced at Livak in surprise. “Did you know about this?”

She looked uncharacteristically defensive. “Weren’t you told? That old wizard, Otrick, he said they were going to tell D’Olbriot and the rest of the Formalin Convocation.”

Shiv rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Over the winter we’ve established that where we can trace the history of those artifacts that cause dreams they come from families involved in the colony. We think they may actually have belonged to colonists.”

“So?” How had they got back across the ocean then, I wondered.

“We’re hoping the dreams might give us some clue as to just what the colonists did to disrupt the Elietimm magic,” said Shiv simply. “We’ve been studying what little we know of aetheric spells, and so far we can’t reliably detect or counter them.”

“So you want to know how to poleaxe their sorcery, in case the Elietimm decide to attack in force and with aetheric magic in support?” That made sense enough, I had to give him that, why be so secretive about it? Messire should have been informed, if no one else.

“It can’t harm any of us now, other than baffle a few old priests whose miracles won’t work anymore.” Shiv shrugged. “Aetheric magic was pretty well lost along with the Empire, as far as anyone this side of the ocean is concerned.”

“So I’ve been given this sword in the hopes that I’ll start dreaming up some answers for Planir?” I could not keep an edge of outrage from my voice; how dare these wizards use Messire like a bird on a game board.

“We, that is Planir and the Council of Mages, they’ve been trying to match likely antiquities with people who should be similar to their original owners.” Shiv’s tone grew more animated. “You’re a swordsman. Have you been having strange dreams? We might well learn something significant if you can try to remember what they, are about.”

“As opposed to trying to put them out of my mind because I’ve been starting to wonder if my wits are turning to water and about to come trickling out of my ears, you mean?” I managed to keep my tone pretty well level; after all, an argument here would attract too much attention.

“I don’t see why you should think that.” Shiv looked surprised.

That was easy for him to say; he’d not had an Elietimm enchanter turning his mind inside out. The idea of that kind of magic invading my sleeping mind made my skin crawl like the thought of wearing a pauper’s shirt. I was tempted simply to hand Shiv the sword, but no—it had been Messire’s Solstice gift to me and token of his admiration. I was not about to hand that over to any wizard. Arimelin willing, I’d ignore any dreams that might come.

“Whatever the colonists did, it would be worth their while for the Elietimm to know about it as well,” mused Halice. “What if they could reverse it? Would that increase their powers? Just stopping us from finding out would mean they kept their tactical advantage. That could well be why they went after Viltred.”

I ran a hand through my hair, wincing as I snagged a tangle of curls that needed a trim. “I’m going to get a bath before I stiffen.”

I stood abruptly and ignored Shiv’s attempts to reassure me. The glossy-haired wench passed me and I caught her arm.

“I want a bath and plenty of hot water in my bedchamber, as soon as you can.”

She shook off my hand, looking a little startled and I realized I had gripped her a little hard. “Sorry.”

“I’ll get it seen to, soon as I get a moment,” she said a little uncertainly, and I went upstairs to pace the room until it arrived.

I was starting to feel cold and sore and realized a little belatedly that I must smell like a hard-ridden horse. A good soak in nicely hot water loosened my muscles and helped soothe away some of my indignation at what I had just learned, but I can’t say I was much happier as the water started to cool. Hunting down Ice Islanders was one thing; I was quite content with that task. Finding out that we might be the prey was definitely unwelcome news and the suspicion that I’d been somehow set up like a lamb staked out to draw wolves was something I didn’t even want to think about. Was that what Shiv had in mind? Was it his idea or Planir’s intention all along? Just what had the Archmage told Messire anyway? Had that devious charmer explained this peculiar business with the dreams, or just suggested the sword would be a suitable gift from a grateful patron? It had to be the latter, no question; anything else wouldn’t honor the oaths that bound D’Olbriot and me together. That same oath meant I was honor-bound to keep the blade, well as committing me to working with Shiv; I couldn’t avoid it, but I could cursed well make sure he wasn’t keeping back anything else I needed to know.

I propped my mirror on my knees and had a thoughtful shave. We could play these runes reversed, couldn’t we? Did it matter if the Elietimm found us or we found them? Not as long as the wizards could keep scrying on them, it didn’t. It certainly made no odds as far as my oath to Aiten was concerned, I reminded myself. I just needed to make sure that I kept alert, all my wits about me. My reflection in the polished steel looked a little less grim and I recalled something my father is always saying: “Build for storms and hope for sunshine.” It’s a fair enough catchword for a stonemason and I could do well to remember it. I shook my head at myself; what would he think of me mixed up in a quest like this? I imagined he would take it all with his usual calm; he’d certainly understand once he met Livak. I hoped so; I was relying on him to talk Mother round.

A knock on the door startled me and I turned to see the latch lift.

“Need someone to wash your back?” Livak slid in and leaned against the door, her smile colored by a little uncertainty in her eyes.

“If you’re offering.” I held up a washcloth and shifted forward; drawing a deep breath of pure pleasure as she scoured my aching muscles with the rough toweling.

“I’ve borrowed some rubbing oil from Viltred too.” Livak bent down and brushed her lips against my hair. “I thought it might help.”

“Good idea.” Stepping out of the water, I spread a towel on the bed. As I lay down I heard Livak bolt the door and smiled into the pillows; Shiv could have Livak’s bed for all I cared, Halice’s virtue would be safe enough.

“About what we were saying downstairs—” Livak sat beside me and rolled up her sleeves.

“I don’t want to talk about it, not at the moment,” I said more sharply than I intended.

“Halice is going to see if she can get anything more out of Nyle.” Livak poured a little oil onto her hands and I smelled the sharp scent of dragonsbreath leaves. “He seemed quite keen this afternoon, when they were discussing tactics for the game.”

“She’s welcome to him.” I’d been wondering what kind of man would catch her eye.

Livak laughed and began to lean deep into rubbing the muscles of my back. “Halice likes men who make her feel small and feminine.”

“That must limit her choice unless there’s a wrestling troupe passing through the neighborhood,” I muttered.

“You’d be surprised; she doesn’t do too badly for bed-mates.”

Livak leaned over and I felt the weight of her breasts brush my back through the soft linen of her shirt. I wondered briefly if all we were going to be were bedmates, no ties binding us. As I started to speak, she kneaded a stubborn knot of muscle in my shoulder and the goose featherbed stifled my half-formed words.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” I stretched out under her skillful hands and made appreciative noises as she carefully smoothed out the myriad aches.

“Still stiff?” she inquired after what seemed like half a season of pleasure.

“Only where I want to be.” Dragonsbreath has the same effect on me as most other men.

Livak giggled as I rolled over. “I was wondering what Viltred was doing asking the ale-wife for this.”

“Forget Viltred.” I reached up for her and drew her into a fierce embrace.

She was as eager as me and shivered in delicious delight as I stripped her shirt over her head. The sight of her soft breasts tightening in the lamplight drove any thoughts of conversation clean out of my head. I reached for her with rising desire. Her answering touch was sure and firm and burned me anew with the fiery thrill of a new lover’s hands and lips. She moved to my caresses eagerly, unhesitating pleasure given and received in the keen rapture of mutual exploration. For all the novelty of her body under my hands, we came together with the ease of a couple a generation wedded, moving with the fluid, instinctive rhythm that had come to us so naturally before. I drew on all the self-control I possessed until I felt the cadence of Livak’s movement stumble into ecstasy and then gave myself up to the sweeping waves of delight that came crashing down to overwhelm me. We finally rested, her heartbeat pounding against mine, and I knew that my pulse would be echoing hers for a long time to come, no matter what her feelings for me might be or the prospects for our futures. Our breath mingling, we drifted into deep and refreshing sleep together.